


The Dragons Wait

by ChariotsChariots, Potato_Being



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Best Friends, Bisexuality, Coming of Age, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Fashion & Couture, Friendship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, In a sense, Multi, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skooma, Solstheim, Thalmor, Vampires, Villain Protagonist, everyone is vampires, in this household we are staunchly imperial, the aedra are bastards, the token het
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChariotsChariots/pseuds/ChariotsChariots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato_Being/pseuds/Potato_Being
Summary: Two dragonborn meet in a cave and then leave to go ruin everything





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what I'm doing.  
> this is the result of an rp Chariots and I started in... may, i think. we're at 300,000 words and we're gonna inflict those words on all of you. have fun.  
> Notes: Ice-Breath is his char, Laria is obviously mine. We built our own history and canon for them, this is technically an alternate universe but I like it better than our separate ones and I can't imagine them separated anymore.

"What in Oblivion am I doing -" Ice-breath murmured to himself, his breath swirling in the cold air like smoke. The studded armor he had picked off of one of the bandits hardly seemed sufficient, and the iron swords he had gotten weren't too reassuring either... But... It almost seemed as if it was expected of him to get this tablet... and if he were to be completely honest, after Helgen, he had no idea what direction to go. He had lost everything in that whole incident.... 

Nowhere else to go but forward, he supposed. 

Just up a staircase, the barrow loomed, cold.  He looked up at it in awe - his ancestors really were spectacular architects, weren't they?

Redirecting his mind to the matter at hand, he made his way to the heavy metal doors, creaking as he pulled them open and peered inside. 

This was it, then.  He hoped that his death was not what the barrow held in store for him. 

Laria heard the door open somewhere above her and made a face. Probably another wanderer or bandit, apparently the first corpse didn't steer them away. Or the second. Or the tenth. She put her gauntlets on, preparing more for an inconvenience than a fight and waited in the dark.

"Oh... Oh gods..." Ice-Breath brought his hand up to his nose as a stench, like that of rotting meat, wafted towards him... As his eyes adjusted, he could begin to make out the outlines of figures, mostly bone... But certainly not draugr.... Tentatively, he stepped forward, readying both an iron sword in each hand. Whatever creature it was that was consuming these bodies was likely to be a tough one... He bit his lip, but scowled, pushing onward down the stone steps into the rubble.

Laria ended up smelling the intruder long before he got anywhere near her. Human, definitely, and probably a nord. She ended up climbing the narrow ledge near the ceiling of the main burial chamber, watching for whatever was coming through. She was nearly invisible in her perch, the only thing giving her location away was the glint of torchlight on her milky grey eyes. She made a face as skeevers began dismantling one of the corpses she hadn't gotten around to butchering.

As Ice-Breath moved through the winding halls, the first thing he noticed was the lack of draugr... Perhaps whatever the creature was that lurked within the crypt took care of them... 

But the  _ second _ thing he noticed-

Burial urns and chests and other such treasures lined the walls. He stopped by the first urn he spotted, glancing around, looking almost guilty. The coins left in there were meant to honor the dead... 

But they'd do much more good to him than they would any dead man. 

He dug in, pulling out a number of gold septims and a silver necklace. That would catch a pretty price.

His attention circled around the riches, the fear of danger dissipating.

Laria could hear the rattling of coins and laughed softly. Of course the intruder would be the type to go digging through chests surrounded by corpses. She left her perch, heading silently towards the chests and her quarry.

The nord stopped abruptly, thinking, for a moment, he had heard...laughter.

It was likely just his mind playing tricks on him, in this rancid place... But... He drew his weapons again, and with his deep voice, a heavy nordic accent lacing his words, he called out, "Is somebody here?"

Would they answer? He didn't know. If they did, it was the  _ how _ they would answer he was worried about... But if they tried anything... He would kill them. Or try to, at least.

Laria froze in place for a second before climbing back up to her perch. Definitely a nord, and she made a rasping sound, knowing full well she was ripping up her throat. It made a weird echo, sounding more like a draugr than... well, whatever she was at that point. She waited.

Ice-Breath glanced around as a draugr's growl echoed throughout the chamber. So there was a few of them left, it seemed.... He hoped it was a lesser one.., 

But... Now it knew his location, yet it didn't run towards him to attack. In fact, he didn't see anything, hear any footsteps. 

His eyes widened. Was it a ghost? Gods, if it was a ghost... How would one fight a ghost?

 

Laria growled as the nord didn't seem to approach her. There was no way short of divine commandment that she'd be the one to charge in with no information. She could, however, activate one of the traps and draw them in. She activated the spike trap, grinning as the crash echoed through the tunnels

The nord jumped as a crash rumbled through the hallways he had yet to explore, and he glanced longingly at the chests before sighing and heading off to see what it was. 

A trap had been set off, it looked like - but still, nothing else moved. He scowled. The least this milkdrinker of a ghost could do was fight him head on instead of messing with him like this. 

..... Perhaps he could fight fire with fire.

Though he typically relied on melee, he had a strange affinity for stealth - one quite uncommon for a nord. He ducked down and hid between two broken urns. Whatever it was would have to come out eventually - and he would be there to see it.

Laria could hear him, the nord was moving quietly, but she could still hear him. That and she could smell him. He was so close at that point, but if he didn't feel like taking her bait-- well that'd make him smarter than everyone else who insisted on wandering into the barrow. She climbed up, hanging from the ceiling from the divots and crevices like a weird spider and staring at the ground. She caught some movement and headed for it

He glanced around. Nothing. He neglected to remember that he was not a patient man. Out of the corner of his eye, however he spotted movement- 

"By Ysmir, what in Oblivion is that!?" He exclaimed, his blue eyes growing wide, and he jumped up. Was it some sort of spider Daedra? A form of undead? He couldn't tell, shadow covering the creature. Either way, he readied his dual swords, standing his ground.

Laria jumped. It was more of a leap, the same a mountain lion moved when lunging for prey. Except she was a dark elf, upside down on the roof of a cave -- what had the cheesebrain named that cougar he called a kitten?-- she redirected her thoughts towards the nord. Either surprise or genuine fear was holding him, and she had to give him credit for not fleeing or begging the divines for salvation. The swords though, the swords were a problem. She twisted, hands out like claws and landed on him.

As the creature jumped, the light from the torches illuminated it's figure- 

An... An elf? 

Ice-Breath only had a few seconds to process this information before she pounced on him. He was knocked flat on his back, the wind being forced out of his lungs- but there was little time to recover. One sword had been knocked from his grasp and skidded across the room. The other lay at his fingertips - 

He pushed the woman off, jumping back up and taking a blocking stance with the one sword that remained. 

"..... Who are you?" He murmured

It took a moment to process the language used. She hissed, more to buy time than give an answer. She jumped backward, keeping a good few feet between the sword and her. She took a moment to form the correct sounds. 

"Laria. Why are..." she coughed, the beginnings of torn skin and everything that came after sitting in her throat. "You are here.  _ Why _ ."

Shor's Bones... This woman - if one could really call her that - looked awful. And when she spoke... Ice-Breath couldn't help but wince. But... He lowered his sword. Despite his better judgement. 

"I... I'm looking for a stone tablet. Do you... Do you know where one might be?"

She stared at him. She could charge him now, and have a dagger in his ribs before he could actually react. But, as much as she hated it... he was the only person in however long that hadn't kept attacking. The tablet-- she knew where it was, she'd killed the draugr sleeping on it and had used it as a coaster for a bit. And then a paperweight. And a blunt object to smash that one woman's brains across the incessantly chanting wall. And then-- shit she'd have to find it. She made a face, fully aware that it stretched and twisted the scarring into something somehow worse. She made a motion to follow her and walked away, avoiding the spike trap.

Ice-Breath let out a shaky sigh, retrieving his other sword before following. Again, likely against his better judgement. But as much as he liked fighting, if he could do this without bloodshed, he probably... Should... 

And this elf... It was a curious sort. What was it doing here? And how long? Were the bodies- 

He shook his head, pushing that thought aside.... But he thought he'd try and break the silence as they walked. 

"So uh... Nice... Place... You got here..."

She heard him and shrugged, kicking a severed head out of the way and leading him into the cavern with the word wall. She pointed at one of the trash piles, mostly filled with armor she'd stripped off of the last idiots to come through. They'd tried using spells to take her down, and she was fairly sure one fainted before she reached him after she took to all fours, running zigzag like a cat. She leaned against the word wall and took a deep drink of her water skin.

"It is nice." She said, recognizing that she was responding to someone about ten minutes after they'd first spoken.

Ice-Breath bent down and picked up a severed head, mostly skeletal at this point.... "Hey, can I keep this-" 

Looking up, the chamber before him left him in awe "whoa..."

He furrowed his brow, "Is it just me or is that wall singing?" 

What in Oblivion was going on in this place? 

The elf gestured towards a pile of rubbish, and Ice-Breath sighed. He was hoping to find battles, not trash diving... But he was glad that he was somewhat safe.. For the moment. 

His gaze drifted back to the wall - it got louder as he approached. What kind of script was that? It looked like nothing he had ever seen before... Yet... Familiar...

"Dragon. Or draconic. Whatever dragons used. That head is mine put it back." Laria said. The wall was, at that point, the only reason she could speak like an actual person. She wasn't looking forward to moving away from it again. She pointed to the trash piles. "It's somewhere. Maybe not here. Maybe in another room. Maybe broken." She shrugged. " _ Who are you _ , why are you  _ here _ ."

Ice-Breath sighed and set the head down.  

"...Dragon..." He murmured, his eyes glossing over for a moment before he looked back at the elf "oh! I uh-" he didn't like giving out his first name "my name is Ice-Breath. I'm... Helping The Jarl of Whiterun... I guess. I don't know what the tablet is for but it’s... " he shifted his gaze "... Why are  _ you _ here? ..."

Laria didn't answer at first, kicking over trash piles in a half-assed assistance for whatever tablet the nord was looking for.  _ Better to take the extra time to come up with a response. _ She'd used it to balance the table with her alembic. She retrieved the tablet, one eye on the nord. 

"It is isolated." She said, handing the stone to him. "And there are many things to study. I am a... form of scholar." It wasn't the greatest redirection she'd ever done, but he was also the first person she'd seen for a while. She paused, realising she... didn't actually know how long she'd been down in the barrow. "What year is it."

The nord took the tablet, but furrowed his brow. "It’s.... The fourth era, year 201...?" Concern found its way onto his face "...are you one of those magic folk?" He had to admit, magic made him somewhat uncomfortable. "... These.. Bodies.. Are they... Yours? Why is some of their flesh missing?...... Are you _ sure  _ I can't have one of those severed heads?"

Laria's hand moved over one of her daggers, as more of a warning than an overt threat.

"What the fuck are 'magic folks'." She said before the date hit her. "Shit." She stalked towards one of the chests and then back across to where she had a pile of books before staring at Ice-Breath. 

"The bodies aren't mine, I don't need multiple bodies." She stops, hissing as she actually understands the question. "No. they aren't my property, inasmuch as they are food. And no, the heads are mine."

Ice-Breath noticed the warning, and dropped the subject of magic users, but not before placing his hand on the hilt of his own weapon. If she tried anything, he'd leave her broken and bloodied-

Wait

_ Food? _

"You eat them? Why don't you just... Hunt venison or something?" 

But he wasn't judging. In all honesty, he was curious... What did human flesh taste like?

"Have you seen any venison in here?" Laria asked, more incredulous than annoyed. "Meat is meat, and the ones with more meat than brains come running through thinking they'll be the ones to clear the damn barrow for their clans or whatever." She made a weird arm motion. "Tastes like... well I can't taste so I don't have a damn clue." She shrugged. "It tasted like pork crossed with fish with more blood and societal abhorrence."

"The woods outside are teeming with deer but..." He glanced around, hoping he was not one of the ones with more meat than brains... But he likely was...

"Well uh, it's been nice meeting you, but I should... Get going..." He began to leave, but paused and turned back..."hey... Do you want to... Come with me? You helped me find the tablet and... We could use your help..."

If it had been about 200 years earlier Laria would have made a 'nice to meat you too' joke. She just stared at him, needing more information. 

"Who is this 'we'. Who is your employer and what is this help you need?" She asked.

Ice-Breath paused... "He's not really my... Employer... I don't think I'm getting paid... It's just... " had she heard about Helgen? The return of the dragons? Unlikely. She didn't even know what year it was. "Dragons have returned to Tamriel. I'm helping the Jarl keep the people of Whiterun hold safe... Or I'm... Trying to... Honestly we could just use all the help we can get and I... Have a good feeling about you, I guess."

She stared at him, processing his words and then re-processing them. She blinked, began to speak, caught herself, _ who is this man-- _ and took another moment to think. 

"You. Are not getting paid. A Jarl is sending you into dungeons with no offer of recompense." She mentally kicked herself. Namira save her, her accent was Cyrodiilic and her sentence structure was firmly rooted in Crisis-era language. 

"Where are these dragons. Why are-- they are extinct, they--" she growled, frustrated, before trying again, "there are dragons wandering around the province. You are not being paid for your labor. Apparently you are scrounging for assistance, and have decided that I, a cannibal living in a barrow, am the best choice because you  _ have a good feeling _ ." She shook her head, dumbfounded. "Truly the world is a mess. Fine, then, nord. Head on your charity errand, I'll be three to fifty steps behind you." She shrugged.

Ice-Breath scoffed. "Look, I never said I was smart. But your help would be good anyway. I'm heading to Dragonsreach to return the tablet. I hope to see you again soon." He began walking away again, but turned around another time "okay but you can't even eat the heads, are you sure I can't-" he stopped "er... Yeah... Never mind." 

And with that, he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laria talks with a thick russian/eastern european accent its all good


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated word count is 530,000 btw

They were going to fight a dragon. 

A dragon. Immortal beings, the sons of gods. How did they have any chance? 

It really was bad timing, Ice-Breath thought. He had just returned to Farengar with the tablet, and Irileth comes announcing that a dragon had been spotted - and that he, a meager prisoner with nothing to his name, was to to help in its defeat. 

He hoped now that the little elf from the barrow was not actually coming to meet him. Now would be a horrible time. 

The headed out of the main gates and towards the Western Watchtower.

 

Laria shoved everything she owned into the old pack that she now realised was actually rotting. It didn't take long and she wasn't in a hurry, but if she'd been in the barrow for that long and there were _dragons_ above ground-- the desire for knowledge outweighed her love of trapping trespassers. _The knowledge of what forced her from her isolation compelled her to follow--_ She headed up, taking a moment to regain her bearings. There was a town to the south now, which hadn't been there when she'd gone in.To the east was Whiterun, and in the sky--

Well, there was the dragon that apparently now existed. She headed for the dragon, checking the amount of arrows she had in her quiver, and the bowstring on the black bow. Laria moved quickly, eyes on the dragon, and she notched an arrow in the bowstring, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice

The Western Watchtower was in ruin, flames scorching the brick. A guard snuck out timidly, fear awake in his eyes, calling about how two others got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it. Ice-Breath's eyes widened as he saw huge wings scratch the sky, and he grabbed the bow off of his back, knocking an arrow while silently praying to whatever God he could think of. Not that he thought any of them were listening.

Laria stood straight in the grass, shooting her arrow at the dragon as it whipped around. She stepped out of the way as it spat fire down at her and put another arrow in its hide.

An arrow flew in the distance, and the dragon seemed to be throwing fire at someone... Dammit, he hoped it wasn't another guard. He began to run over, hoping the dragon wouldn't notice his approach.

Laria was trying to hit the wing joint, though the sunlight was doing nothing for her terrible vision. She heard someone coming up behind her and almost spun around to put an arrow in the person. She fought that instinct off-- the dragon would take priority for everyone. Her arrow lodged in the joint as she'd hoped.

It was the cannibal from before. At least it wasn't a guard. It looked like the arrow she shot landed in the joint of the wing, landing the creature. Good. It would be much more easy to deal with this way. Ice-Breath readied his swords and darted forward, slashing them across the wing of the land-bound dragon.

Laria put another arrow in the dragon's eye, keeping her distance as the nord attacked the thing.

The dragon shot around and spewed flame at the nord, and he reeled back. Dammit, he hated fire, and had a feeling that he would never like it. He grabbed a healing potion and downed it, throwing the glass bottle on the ground, chunks of glass spewing up upon impact. Irileth and the guards caught up soon enough, and began attacking as well. Before long, the monstrosity was overwhelmed.

Laria took a tally of the people around her as the dragon fell. A dunmer, a few guards, the nord, and if they turned on her she had a straight shot back to the barrow _to hide once more, run like she had before--_ She gripped her bow a bit tighter and glared at the dragon corpse. 

An energy ripped from the dragon's body, and Irileth commanded the guards to stand back. Ice-Breath did the same, but found the energy following him, as well as the elf from the barrow. 

 

Laria hissed, moving away from the energy. Interacting with unknown magic ended badly, nine times out of ten. And she was the reason for that metric. 

The energy hit her and there was fire under her skin, worse than when she burned her own body in the barrow-- except instead of a failed spell she could see a millennium of experiences, and everything the word wall had chanted at her was corroborated and confirmed. She stared at the nord as the glowing strands hit him.

The words on the wall, from before.... They made sense now.

Fus....

Force. 

He dug his nails into his palms to prevent himself from panicking, heart racing, breaths threatening to quicken, flashes in his mind, and information shifting into place. 

A guard stepped forward, eyes steeped in awe, looking at both of them... 

"You're... Both of you... Dragonborn!"

Laria stared at the man before making a disgusted face. She knew enough of history to know what 'dragonborn' meant, and if they decided to hail her as a divines-sent hero she was going to burn the country down.

"Like... Like Septim dynasty, master of the Thu'um, Dragonborn?" Ice-Breath asked, and then glanced back over at the elf. He gulped "I don't... I don't think _I_ am. I don't know about Laria but I... I gotta get back to Dragonsreach, talk to the Jarl..."

Laria headed for the dragon skeleton and began breaking bones off of the ribcage. She ignored the guard's attempts to explain the concept to her, and ended up tossing a helm at his feet before walking after the nord and taking a long drink from the water skin.

Noticing the elf was following him, once they were away from the others, he turned and spoke, "glad to see you made it." Turning back, he dug his teeth into his finger. They had taken down a dragon. The bringers of the end of time. Perhaps one of the gods he had prayed to in the back of his mind had listened after all. However, his mind could only rush with questions. What was that energy? How did he then know the word?  This talk of Dragonborn?  Could it even be possible?

She didn't answer, both from her inability to and her lack of interest in doing so. She pointed up at the town of Whiterun itself, ultimately using the Cyrodiilic form of sign language to ask about the Jarl and his general personality.

Ice-Breath furrowed his brow. "What, Whiterun?" Ah, talking wasn't her strong suit, he would guess, based on their previous interactions... He followed her signing and nodded. "Uh, nice place. The Jarl is a good man, it seems. Good leader. Makes sure everyone is safe." 

He looked up as the sky began to soften into evening. It really was gorgeous, and after that battle, it was a relief to feel the cool, night air. 

Out of nowhere, the ground rumbled, and  voices ran from the sky, saying "Dovahkiin"

"I swear to Molag's Ballsack! WHAT IN OBLIVION IS GOING ON TODAY!?" He exclaimed, finally losing it "I meet a cannibal in a crypt, fight a gods-damned dragon, literally eat its soul, that the cannibal also eats, and now the sky is YELLING AT ME!?"

Laria stared at him for a long moment before closing her eyes and laughing. It was honestly disturbing, harsh and grating, and she bent double for a long while. She looked up at him, still with her elbows on her knees, and signed, "The sky isn't shouting at you--" she made a gesture, not actually knowing any curses she could sign outside of the middle finger. "Mountains. Greybeards on the mountain. Talk to your Jarl, he'll probably tell you what's happening. "

Ice-Breath winced as he heard her laugh, but decided to keep quiet on the matter. "You mean the weird old guys? I didn’t know they had that sort of power. What in Oblivion..." He murmured. Reaching the gates, he noticed a suspicious lack of guards, and he heard a commotion within. He rushed through only to see a bloody battle between the Whiterun guards and... Vampires? 

Honestly, he wasn't surprised anymore. 

Part of him just wanted to lay down and give up right then and there.

Laria didn't react with any real shock to the vampires, simply lunging forward with her daggers and slicing one apart as he charged them. She pointed at Ice-Breath in a way to say "you do your job".

The nord sighed and gritted his teeth, rushing forward in a sword in each hand. If it were any other day, he would love to go about slicing and dicing and bashing in skulls, but enough had happened today... 

He sliced one in half, but another went behind him and cast the life-draining spell. He quickly spun around and began to deal with that one. It seemed to be stronger than the first he fought. 

Laria lunged for one of the few remaining vampires, her daedric daggers slicing through the woman's throat easily, though the woman had put a dagger in her side as she fell. She turned and charged the remaining vampire, tossing the blade aside carelessly.

Ice-Breath finished off the vampire he was fighting, sticking him through the stomach, and regained his balance.  Or, at least, tried to.  He felt a little woozy. Turning, he saw blood coming from the elf's side, and reached in his bag, grabbing a healing potion and holding it out to her, holding his head with is free hand. 

"I'm going to... look through... the dead, before I head up to dragonsreach." They were likely to have something of value on them. Something he could easily turn around for some gold.  Or maybe even gold itself.  He bent down to look through the one vampire's pockets, but almost lost balance again.

Laria sighed, downing the potion and kicking over a corpse. She glanced around before taking the man's boots, replacing her foot wraps that were probably almost 200 years old. The boots fit decently, and she observed the nord with the same gaze she used on prey and marks, working to check for injuries. 

Only a few septims, this man had on him, it seemed... But his armor seemed sturdier than what he had on now, even if it was in a style known to be worn by vampires. He took it, placing it in his bag to change into later. ... 

He sighed. The matter of speaking to the jarl was time sensitive. He would have to find coin some other way. 

Getting up, he almost lost balance again, but headed onward up the steps towards the higher districts.

Laria recognised the symptoms, and waved an arm to get his attention. He walked by, heading up, which meant he was either going to the temple or the Jarl. She followed about twenty paces back, head lowered in case someone who'd escaped the barrow recognised her.

He didn't see her wave, and only had his eyes set on Dragonsreach. Upon getting to the edge of the middle district, he began up the stairs to the cloud district.

She glared at the temple as they walked past it. If he was unable to recognise when he needed healing that was on him, and if she wasn't getting paid it wasn't much of her concern. She was following him because he offered, and she was running through ways to get money out of whatever advisors lived up there for keeping casualties to a minimum. All she could come up with was 'I saved your shitty town from vampires, pay me or I'll finish what they started', which would probably land her in jail.

He glanced back at her. "H-hey... Sorry for... Getting you into more trouble than you bargained for. I would ask that you let me do the talking but... I don't think that would be an issue..." He got to the top and held the door to the palace open for her.

She shot him a withering glance, signing, "You're sick," and walked on in, heading straight for the guy on the throne.

He furrowed his brow. "Sick? I'm... Not sick." Couldn't afford to be. Not right now.. He rushed forward to catch up with Laria. Balgruuf sat on the throne, patiently awaiting a report. Irileth had not seemed to have returned yet.

Laria made a complicated hand motion that used three languages and excessive middle fingers, mostly because the knife wound hadn't closed over well and her hands hurt. When Balgruuf stared at her she twisted her face into a scowl and folded her arms, looking more like a bodyguard than a vagabond.

Ice-Breath had no idea what the elf was trying to say, but he intervened. 

"Er- the western watchtower was destroyed... But we killed the dragon? With uh, the help from my... Friend, here..." 

The Jarl asked if anything more happened and Ice-Breath explained the Dragonborn deal. Balgruuf then explained that the two of them needed to go to High Hrothgar right away.

Laria elbowed the nord, quickly signing "recompense for services". She paused, and then gestured to the Jarl in an order to translate. 

"I do not perform charity and I do not take orders. Pay me for the supplies and time it will take to reach your mountain or I do not go."

Ice-Breath winced, then looked at the Jarl warily. He hated to have to admit that he kind of agreed with her - not for himself, not this time around... But he certainly didn't have any money to give her and he couldn't expect her to do anything without being paid....

The Jarl scowled, but motioned to Proventus, who then disappeared up the stairs, returning with 100 gold coins in a sack, and handing them to the woman. 

Balgruuf turned to Ice-Breath, "you should hold her to the claim that she will travel the mountain with you... But you have done us a service as well... I grant you a personal housecarl, Lydia. She is sworn to protect you to the best of her ability." 

The nord kneeled in thanks, and got back up, turning around to see a brown-haired nord woman behind him. 

"The jarl has assigned me to be your housecarl. It is a pleasure to meet you." 

Ice-Breath nodded "Yeah, nice to meet you too.... Hey, come with us," he said, "we could use all the help we can get." From there, he set off, whether or not Laria was satisfied.

Laria held the coins in her hand and then pocketed them. Barely enough to buy potions, but extorting the guy in charge was probably not helpful. She walked away, keeping her distance from both Lydia and Ice-Breath.

 

\--

 

It had taken almost a day to walk up to High Hrothgar. Not only had they had to walk around much of the mountain to get to the path up there, but the steps were many, and Ice-Breath almost felt like he was getting more winded, more exhausted, sooner than usual. Perhaps it was from the past day's stress, or the lack of sleep. The building lay ahead, but he stopped.

Laria stared up at the massive stone cut building. She needed answers, and if she also was able to get more information about history, so much the better. The nord looked worse, though, and since he apparently didn't realize he was sick, that was his problem. She walked up to the doors, unafraid, but turned to shoot the nord a glance

"What do you think will happen once we're in there? What will they want to say?" The nord murmured

"I'm not clairvoyant and I have no information on the Greybeards outside of folklore." Laria signed. "They trained Tiber Septim or whatever his name was, they'll probably give you some moral questions and make you do some soul searching."

Ice-Breath rolled his eyes. "Great." He went inside. Arngier approached them as they entered. 

"So Dragonborn visit us, at the turning of the age..."

Laria made a face and made an effort to listen, though she kept her distance.

"We must first see if you really are Dragonborn" Arngier said, "let us taste of your voice"

Laria knew a lot of words, and she knew how they went together-- but she wasn't too thrilled about using the Thu'um. 

" **FUS** " she shouted, the sheer power ripping open her throat.

Ice-Breath bit lip. He had no idea what he was doing but - 

" **FUS**!" 

A number of pots and pans scattered. "Ah! Sorry!" 

Arngier only looked at the two in awe. "So you really are Dragonborn.... One final test, then. In Ustengrav, resting there will be the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, the founder, of the Greybeards. Bring it to us. Stay true to the way of the voice, and you will return."

Laria raised her hands and then put them down. She knew when there was no room for negotiation. She shrugged and motioned for the nord to leave.

"O-oh, yeah." He said, and followed behind. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've got a google docs where we regularly go just to comment angry roasts of particular characters. now i know what you're thinking. there's only like, two characters so far.  
> oh honey.  
> you've got.  
> a big storm coming.  
> you don't even know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy monday from us to you

It took about 24 hours to reach Morthal. Ustengrav was just to the North East. Ice-Breath yawned, tired. Conversation had been sparse, as talking was obviously not something the elf.... Did... But he thought it time to ask. 

"I hope this isn't taking too much time from your uh... Research? Or from anything else..."

Laria gave a half shrug, building time to answer. 

"It's taking my time from everything." She signed. "But dragons hold more potential for study. A variable." She shrugged, wanting to continue but not having anything more to elaborate on.

"Makes sense, I suppose..." Ice-Breath murmured. Gods, he had no idea what to even say to this woman. He knew nothing about her, but he almost felt as if asking would be an invasion of her privacy. 

".... Are you from Morrowind? I know a lot of dark elves came here after the eruption of Red Mountain.... I have never been anywhere but Skyrim, and then Cyrodiil.... Now I'm back here again."

Laria visibly bristled as he spoke. She shook her head. 

"I am of Cyrodiil." She signed immediately. She had to stop and think about his words, placing the events that had taken place. "Where are you from. Originally."

"Cyrodiil? That's interesting. When?..." He paused "I was born in Skyrim. Just outside Windhelm. Left seven or so years ago for Cyrodiil. Now I'm back."

She paused, planning her answer. dunmer lived longer than humans, so it wouldn't be that odd to tell the truth. 

"Before the Oblivion Crisis." She explained. That was the only real answer she had, as she wasn't entirely sure how old she was any way. "And why did you leave for that long?" Twisting the conversation and pointing towards everyone but her was a talent, in a way.

His eyes widened, and he suddenly felt somewhat insignificant. "Really? That was over 200 years ago.". But she was an elf. and elves lived longer than humans did...

"Eh, it's probably the same answer most who set out to be mercenaries give.  Didn't like where I was, so I left to find adventure.  Son of a farmer, and all that rot. And... there was something that drew me to Cyrodiil, I guess.  Something like... dreamlike memories." He paused, realising how loopy he had to have sounded. "Anyway, we should be coming up on the crypt soo-" He held his head in his hands, clenching his teeth.  How long had they been on the road?  It was almost sunrise already.  He needed sleep or... or  _ something. _

His turning was faster than she expected. That was fine, just another variant to a disease, though it raised the questions about virus mutation that she'd need to look at later. She nodded. 

"Suppose that's healthier than leaving your family to become a necromage. Or a bandit." She signed absently. His comment about memories didn't raise any flags, she'd seen enough to take weird mental shenanigans in stride.  _ It was easier to ignore. _ Her current focus was on how long he had left, and how to properly keep the housecarl between her and the nord. 

"I need information on what lives in the ruin. Once we arrive, we set camp inside. I will head farther in to make notes." She instructed. nordic barrows had wall murals and script in nearly dead languages, and she wanted to check if there were different dialects between the regions.

Was he sick? Oh gods, he felt awful. But... No, it didn't matter if he was sick or not. Time sensitive issues were at hand. He couldn't afford to stop- and he didn't want Laria thinking he was too weak, so he pushed the exhaustion to the side... Or tried to, to the best of his ability. 

"Wait, a necromage? A bandit?" He asked, having a suspicious feeling that the woman was talking through experience. He glared for a few moments before looking off. He didn’t like her telling him what to do, but he least thing he could do was follow her instructions. He had dragged her out of that dusty hole in the ground, as it was.  Or.... "Perhaps while you do research I could go off with Lyds to find the horn? Two slaughterfish, one hook..."

Laria nodded slowly, deciding to let the issue drop. She... had honestly done similar things in the name of expediency. As they reached the ruin Laria began noting the structure and architecture, drinking from her bottle.

 

The nord peered inside, looking around before heading deeper into the ruin. It really was gorgeous. 

"I'll be back with the horn, then." He said, turning to Laria.

Laria nodded to them, heading for the carvings. The designs seemed fairly standard, telling a story about the battles that took place nearby. There were several references to vampires, specifically an old clan that had attacked the settlement that would eventually become Morthal. She headed deeper, making haphazard notes in the tattered journal she used.

"Lyds, look!!!" Ice-Breath's voice traveled through the halls of the crypt. "They have cheese wheels!!!. I love cheese wheels!!...Wait, how old are these crypts again?.... You know what, let's ignore the cheese wheels..." 

"Ignoring them would likely be... the best course of action" The housecarl responded. Their conversation faded as they got further into the crypt.

Laria could hear their conversation. Cheese was fermenting milk, and in a cold ruin, so it probably wasn't that bad. Though she noted the utter oddity of that thought process,  _ how bad is the cheese of indeterminate age really _ . She tossed that option aside, if she needed food that desperately, it wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be an insurmountable problem. The carvings travelled down, telling about the local leader, how amazing he was, equating his virility to eight oxen, and she bypassed the rest of that relief. She'd had enough of nords' sex drives for a long time. The next relief was about a dragon that threatened the area, though upon translation it was equating a barbaric warlord  _ to _ a dragon. She'd need to find older ruins. The traps were relatively well-maintained, and she decided to try disarming a pressure plate to see if it was enchanted or not.

Ice-Breath wandered further, trying to hide his exhaustion with sad attempts of humor. Suddenly, the sound of a draugr's naked feet slapping across the ancient stone resonated across the halls, and both nords readied their weapons. 

Gods, he was not at all feeling well enough for a fight. Perhaps he should have asked Laria if they could stop and rest before going into the ruins.... 

But.... Time-sensitive issues.... 

 

Almost five hours later, both the nord and his housecarl returned to the main entrance hall, looking a mess, the both of them. They didn't have the horn either - only a paper instructing them how to find it.

Laria stared at them, looking annoyed. She took the paper, reading it quickly and snarled. She was honestly getting tired, both physically and mentally, and pointed to an alcove where they could rest. 

"You are about to collapse, and carrying a man is not productive in battle. You will rest or I will choke you out and make you rest." She signed bluntly and leaned against the wall, arms folded and staring at him.

Ice-Breath opened his mouth as if to protest, but he knew she was right.... He sneered and turned, heading towards the alcove she had gestured to. 

Unfortunately, it seemed sleep wouldn't come.

Laria wasn't impressed, walking deeper into the ruin to follow more carvings and leaving the nord. She knew that she could ignore physical exhaustion for longer than the mental, and as soon as she got angrier than her normal frustration she'd... probably hurt someone. She'd regret it, the nord was decent in combat,  _ he needed to remain for longer than before-- _ so she kept examining carvings, not really paying attention to the subjects in favor of introspection.

As Ice-Breath lay there, having given up on sleep, he wondered about the elf. She seemed angry... Or frustrated. Something. He really hoped that she didn’t continue to be. And he hoped her frustration was not his fault..... 

Having not heard Laria's footsteps in awhile, he figured it would be safe to venture outside a little. See what time it was. Get some kindling for the fire Lyds seemed to be setting up. He got up and walked over, opening the door and peering out. Mid afternoon, it seemed. After grabbing a few sticks from the ground, he decided he wasn't feeling it and headed back inside.

Her book was falling apart, fragments of text and wild scribbles interspersed with clippings of various pamphlets and decrees finally wearing out the enchantments on it. She'd need a new one. She decided that the carvings didn't hold enough value to keep examining them, everything already covered in various times. As she walked back she pocketed the bits of gold the nord had apparently not grabbed.

As he walked back with the sticks, he noticed Laria returning. He forced a sheepish smile. 

"H-hey. How's research?"

She tried to loosen her face, only creasing her brows and raising part of her upper lip, and shrugged. 

"Why are nords obsessed with penises." She signed, and offered no additional context.

"He-hey!!! Did you go through my bag!?" Ice-Breath exclaimed, getting angry before realising that she had been talking about what she had found on the walls of the crypt. His face flushed red.

She stared at him, disturbed and stunned, before shaking her head in a "no, what the fuck" way. She shot a glance at Lydia, actually acknowledging her for the first time.

Lydia covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, and noticed the elf was looking at her. She waved awkwardly. 

Ice-Breath was flustered, trying to think of anything to change the subject. "Uh - s-so... To the Sleeping Giant inn? Please?"

Laria's mind immediately went to innuendo in 'sleeping giant' and she closed her eyes in exasperation. Her lips thinned as she nodded.

Ice-Breath hadn't even thought of that, but he noticed she seemed uncomfortable.Whatever. Didn’t matter. He dropped the sticks and scooped up his supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey fuckers   
> nobody knows what's in Ice-Breath's bag   
> and nobody will ever know   
> it's a question for the motherfucking ages  
> \- d


	4. Chapter 4

They had been on the road to Riverwood, somewhere in the plains outside Whiterun. The sun was setting. It had been three days. 

Laria picked plants on the way, working them into her mortar as they walked. She had a decent setup, enough so that she would only need to stop when distilling had to happen. She ran through her mental notes, ending up stuck on whatever was in Ice-Breath's bag. The thief and professional blackmailer part of her wanted to go through it, but she reasoned herself out of that idea, citing the need for allies. Plus she doubted the housecarl would let her do it.

Ice-Breath had no idea what the elf was doing. Making potions? He hadn't ever been able to get the hang of that. Too boring. Smithing, on the other hand...... He loved smithing. Was good at it too, if he could say so himself... But that wasn't something he could do on the roa- Something shot through him, and he collapsed to his knees.

Laria watched the man collapse and sighed. It'd be soon now. Last time she'd watched someone succumb to the virus it'd been because she'd exposed a breton and then locked him in a pit to observe. The man had climbed out afterward in bloodlust and she had scars on her legs from his hands. She put her vials away and kept her distance, letting Lydia check him.

Lydia rushed forward, placing her hand on Ice-Breath's back, but he pushed her off. 

He _was_ , sick, wasn't he? 

And he just now realized what he was sick with.  

He bit his finger as fangs protruded from his gums and his eyes shot towards Lydia hungrily as they turned red.

"Move backward." Laria _spoke_ , barely more than a rasp but still audible. She reached for her daggers, eyes on the nord

The housecarl, confused and frightened, slowly backed away. 

Ice-Breath rose to his feet, eyes glowing in the darkness between his two other party members, digging into his palms with his nails in an attempt at self restraint.

Laria stood her ground-- anything short of a daedric prince or very large beetles wouldn't scare her.  

"Bandits." She said, pointing to the west where the glow of a camp could be seen.

Ice-Breath hesitated- walking forward a few steps before forcing himself to turn and run in the direction of the bandit camp.

Lydia turned to Laria, weapon drawn and scared of her wits, trembling. 

"What-what was that?" She asked in a whisper.

 

The nord only remembered waking up amongst bodies of bandits, all drained, and looking down at his hands, he noticed that he was covered in blood. A small creek ran nearby, and he darted over without a moment's hesitation. He looked at his reflection and reeled back, realising that he didn't recognise himself anymore - his face had hollowed out, his eyes had darkened and now hummed a glowing red, and his complexion had grown ghastly.

 

Laria sighed, more from exhaustion than anything else. 

"The bloodlust that hits a newly turned vampire causes them to tear apart anything in their path. You should follow, he will have left his stupor." She signed, knowing the nord wouldn't understand most of it. 

"Vampire. Bloodlust. Follow. Now safe." She spoke, quickly taking a swig and spitting out the blood before drinking properly. She followed the trail, and paused to marvel at the absolute carnage Ice-Breath had caused. She stood over him as he knelt by the creek, looking nonplussed.

"V-Vampire?" Lydia asked, hesitating, wondering if she really should follow. Her honor told her she had to, so she did... But she didn't know if her honor even counted when it was pertaining to.... This. 

 

As Ice-Breath smelled people behind him, he looked back to see the other two, and jumped to his feet, stepping backwards and holding out his hands so they would stay away. 

Laria stopped, staring at him blankly before raising her hands. 

"Congratulations you didn't kill anyone you knew." It... wasn't the most supportive thing she could have signed, but she also wasn't the most supportive person. _She never had been--_

He scowled, mouth twitching. He wanted to say something along the lines of "congratulations that that person wasn't you," but he didn't feel like saying  anything at all right now... 

He... What was he going to do...? 

He sat down and rested against a rock near the creek- and his eyes met with Lydia's. All he could see was disdain, and he bit his lip, then yelped in pain, forgetting that he couldn't really do that anymore.

Laria had a lot of thoughts. The first being "this is what happens when you put shit off", the second being "get up we're continuing on to Riverwood". She signed them, a feeling more akin to knowing she made a mistake than actual guilt hitting her. She shook her head. "Or you can sit there and figure out what the fuck you're doing."

"... I guess I have all the time in the world to f-figure out....." He got back to his feet, and began washing the blood from his face, at the very least....

His armor was ruined.... He then remembered he had another set with him.... The irony of what that set was, though, caused him to seethe. 

He decided the bloodstained armor would do for now. He grabbed his bag, and looked at the elf, a silent signal telling her to take the lead.

Laria gave him five minutes and then headed off. She led a brutal pace, efficiency and speed more important than safety and general comfort. Instead of sticking to the roads she led them across the wilds, fording rivers and passing furious sabrecats without much thought. She at least had the decency to use the bridge when they reached Riverwood.

At least the nord wasn't exhausted anymore.... But the trek was still a difficult one, the toll on his mind being a large one. Anxiety grabbed at every thought he had and he - 

Everything was so different. So wrong. Like he was in a dream world. But... Not a nightmare.   
Why wasn’t a nightmare? It should have been - 

Not until they reached Riverwood, and the sun peeked over the horizon. 

He hadn't even given it a second thought. The sun rose and the sun set - but now there were consequences. He hissed under his breath and began gnawing at his knuckles, to redirect the pain to something he knew. It was a pain he had never felt before and he realized that it would be a pain he would feel every day.

"Inside. Now." Laria signed bluntly, ordering him into the inn. It was dark, and uncomfortably warm compared to the ruins she'd been living in. She headed for the woman apparently running the place, staring at her urgently and using the only characters she knew in the nordic sign language to try and sign 'attic room'. She was fairly sure she spelled 'atk rppm', but she'd take it. The woman stared at her, absolutely confused.

"Uh" Ice-Breath intervened "She's trying to say attic room. She'd like to rent the attic room." He then went back to gnawing on his knuckles.

Laria nodded sharply, and the woman sighed. 

"We don't have an attic room, but I can put you up in a regular room." She showed them the way, and Laria kept an eye on her as she spun, asking them to close the door. She ran through risk factors, and everything came down to 'she tries anything and she's got two undead and a vengeful housecarl on her'. She shut the door and let the woman lead them through a fake wardrobe into a basement bunker. Laria leaned over the map, mostly ignoring the woman until she grabbed Laria's arm, asking if they were Thalmor. Laria glared at her and shook her head sharply, the traces of a snarl visible. 

Ice-Breath followed. He wasn't the most trusting of men but most of the time... Most of the time he also had reason and clarity on his side. Right now he didn't care... Much at all....

His head perked up as he heard the word "Thalmor,"  and  he began actually listening... If the damn elves were caught up in this....

Laria tuned the woman-- Delphine-- out, more interested in examining the small alchemy station than deal with this 'nord hero of legend destined to save the world' business. If she couldn't profit off of this she wasn't going along with it. When Delphine asked them to travel to a small village with her she nodded, not seeing any way to get out of it. The nord wasn't about to make decisions any time soon, and Delphine acted like it was urgent.

Kynesgrove? He knew the place better than he had wanted to. Would often bring up crops to the miners when he was a kid. There was an ancient burial mound near there... So the dragons were coming back to life... His mind didn't stay on the subject for long, as the other two began to head out... But he stopped at the front door. He didn't want to go out there. Not right now.

Laria prodded the woman, signing "partner has light sensitivity, wait for nightfall" before remembering the nord was the only one to understand the signing. Rage pooled in her gut at her forced silence, and began writing on the note the same phrase. She showed it to Delphine, daring her to protest. She almost did, but stopped as Laria stood up straighter, using her grey skin, massive scars and above average height to intimidate the woman. 

"Of course. You can spend the rest of the day here, we'll head out tonight." Delphine left quickly and Laria folded her arms, staring the remaining nords down.

Ice-Breath gave the elf a sheepish smile, and stepped backwards.  "T-thank you-..."

She shrugged and then pointed to the few bits of exposed skin before signing,

"Nerve damage, can't feel most sensations. Sun no longer burns as bad, though I remember how it used to be."

His eyes widened "you-you're..." He stepped back on instinct, before remembering that he was.... One too.... And began the knuckle gnawing again.

She stared at his hands before shaking her head and pointing at Lydia.

"Things need to be sorted out." She signed, before spitting and writing the phrase out on paper. "I need to know where you stand and where your loyalties lie because if I've got a choice between the anxious baby vampire and you at my back in a fight I'd rather have the vampire right now."

Lydia turned up her nose and scoffed.... But paused, and shook her head.

"If you need me, I'll be at Dragonsreach. I don't want to step on toes." And with that, she left.

Laria watched her go with no real emotion, before sitting on a chair on the other side of the room. She stared at her hands, hunched over silently and tried to ignore the nord's gnawing.

Ice-Breath was hurt by Lydia's absence... But he didn't blame her... He probably would have left too if- 

He looked over at Laria.... No idea what to say... If there was anything to say.

Laria sighed. She preferred silence, but not when there were issues neither party was addressing. She cursed her upbringing and inability to deal with people again and moved to the table, beginning to distill the raw powders she had prepared. There was nothing to say, not any more. Two vampires, in an inn far from their homes, waiting for nightfall so they could follow a stranger to a dragon. Well, she'd heard stranger opening sentences, and she had created stranger opening sentences. She snorted, realising that she'd probably lost it a bit in the barrow, and vaguely remembered her investigations into how the brain was affected by long periods of Solitude. Every conclusion boiled down to 'not great', and she'd known that heading in.

"...I'm sorry..." Ice-Breath finally ended up saying, and stared ahead of him, as if in a daze.

Laria turned to stare at him, gesturing out a "why" between bottling.

"For... Making a scene?" He honestly didn't know. He just felt... Guilty. About something.

She stared at him. She was working on a theory that nords were naturally anxious, though she didn't deal with enough to really build on it. She considered saying something like 'oh you'd get along great with my apprentice, he began crying when I told him he hadn't fucked up harvesting mushrooms', but decided that mentioning that was... a little sadistic. She shrugged. 

"If there aren't bodies and an arrest warrant it's not a scene." She ultimately said.

His red eyes flicked up at her. "There were bodies. Back at the bandit camp.... If you could even call what was left of them 'bodies'" he clenched his teeth...

She shrugged. "Fewer bandits means easier travel. They were in the way, you removed them. Simple." She recognised that her take was not 'simple', and anyone with any empathy would call it something closer to 'callous' or 'evil'.

"I..." He stopped, not knowing what to say. It seemed he never did. 

He glanced down at the platter at the table he was sitting at and saw his reflection again. His heart skipped a beat - why was this so hard to come to terms with?

Laria rolled her eyes, well aware that the effect was void without visible irises and pupils. The tension in her body started to return as she grew frustrated. Obviously shaking him into a new worldview wouldn't work, the last time she tried Saval had sat on the floor and whimpered like a dog for two hours and she had to keep stepping over him. She paused, realising she missed the cheesebrain. She pulled her focus back to the baby vampire in front of her. 

"You require information. I have information." She signed, resigning herself to several hours of explanations.

"....what information do I need?" Ice-Breath asked warily, well aware that the woman seemed to be... Tense...

Laria almost made an exasperated noise. He had no questions? About anything?

"Vampirism. Dragons. How to survive the sun." She signed. "Easiest ways to get blood."

He paused. "Let's start with... Vampirism... Then.."

She nodded. 

"There are three main diseases, poryphic hemophilia, sanguinare vampiris and noxiphilic sanguivoria. You've been infected with the second one, which only appears in Skyrim. You are unable to age and immune to any other disease, and are more susceptible to fire. Without feeding you will become stronger because of the specific strain, but if you swear off blood altogether you will go rabid." She signed. "The earliest sources on vampirism cite Molag Bal as the creator, and the women who he infects are known as daughters of Coldharbor. dunmeri tradition says Bal raised a vampire from a defeated foe. The dunmer believe vampirism to be incurable, though several people have claimed to be cured by Bal after doing favours for him. There is also a woman in Iliac Bay-- rather, there was a woman there who could cure it. I could get into the many bloodlines and the genealogy of the clans but I hate them and don't want to." Laria finished.

He nodded slowly, trying to take in the amount of information. He thought... The dunmer to be correct. There was no 'cure.' He had tasted blood and enjoyed it. Everyone around him seemed more like food. There's no way he could go back from that. Molag Bal…. huh…   
"... The sun, then." He said with a sigh, asking about the next topic...

"It will burn you but the strain you have will not let it kill you." Laria signed. "Cover your skin, cloaks and armor keep the sun off for the most part. Unless you want to set yourself on fire, that can kill pain as well." She shrugged. "Travel at night, feed at night, sleep during the day. The summer will be difficult this far north, and the winter will be simple."

He inhaled heavily, and let out a sigh. It was still really hard for him not to take this advice hypothetically. 

"I should... Probably change armor then?" He said, reaching into the bag and pulling out the vampire armor he had taken from before. Studded armor was very open, no sleeves, not to mention that what he had on now was saturated in blood...

She nodded curtly, turning back to her potions. The skin under her gloves was slowly rubbing raw under old bandages. She'd change them later.

Ice-Breath walked into one of the rooms and closed the door, coming back out wearing full vampire armor. He seemed very uncomfortable, however. 

"Well, how do I look?"

She glanced at him, giving him more of a distracted once-over than anything else. She shrugged. "It'll do for now." She handed him a vial, the label 'fire resistance' in a small, neat font

"Thanks..." He murmured, taking the vial. He'd have to remember to make her a weapon or something to repay her. 

"...easiest way to ....get ....blood, then?" It felt weird for him to say it.

She nodded, then realised he wasn't suggesting anything. "Feed on the sleeping." She signed. "Feeding doesn't have to end in death. Feed on your enemies, terrify those remaining." She explained. Honestly she was planning out where bandit camps were, because while she hadn't been the one turning into a wolf she knew how the hunt felt. She then cursed Hircine again. "Blood potions are supposed to exist, though I know not where they are found. Alcohol can kill some of the urges, as can skooma, but those are temporary."

He chuckled "well, I can tell you that alcohol is most certainly something I'm familiar with."  His face fell again ".... Do you think... Lydia knows it was an accident?"

Laria shook her head. "I have no way of knowing that. Her information is that you were sick going to the ruin, and turned on the return trip. From that it could be extrapolated either way."

"....how did you become...." He started - stopping, in case it was a sensitive issue....

Laria didn't respond for a moment. It had been purposeful, a way to anger Hircine, but she didn't feel like tossing all of that information at him. "I wanted to become a vampire. So I did." She settled on signing.

"O-oh..." He replied, not really surprised that that was her answer.... Suddenly he felt guilty. She had been a vampire all this time and all he had been doing was complaining about the condition.  "... Do I have that weird drain magic that vampires use now?"

She nodded. "If my studies carry over, your ice spells should be stronger as well." She signed.

".... I was raised not to like magic and told a nord couldn't be good at it. But I'd like to try..." He said, realising after that the elf probably didn't care.... "But ice seems more interesting to me than fire or storm"

She stopped distilling, letting the equipment do the work and turned back to him, leaning on the table. "I know a 7'4" nord who was laughed out of every mages guild and college in Cyrodiil. He was incredibly talented, despite his race." She signed. "Ice will freeze your opponents in place, or slow them down. Using it, you gain the advantage in speed and reflex."

Ice-breath nodded, but his lip, winced due to forgetting he had fangs now, and held out his hand. His red eyes narrowed as he tried to cast a frost spell, leading to a small explosion of ice. He jumped back, and his face almost flushed - as it couldn't quite do that anymore.

Laria sighed. "Not in the building." She said. She checked the time through the small window. "Three hours to sundown, either take a nap or we go out past the village boundaries so you don't break anything."

Ice-Breath scoffed. "You do realize that I can do whatever in Oblivion I want?" He shook his head, "fine. Outside then." He stood, hesitated when reaching the door, and forced himself outside. He went straight to Alvor's forge. 

"Can I use your forge?" He asked the blacksmith. He was friends with this man, so he assumed he would let him. His assumption was correct, and using some leather from his bag, he crafted two hoods. 

He held one out to Laria. "I know it doesn't bother you as much" he whispered "but here's a hood... In case you want it." He slipped his on.

Laria held hers, staring at it in a mix of confusion and shock. She glanced between the hood and the nord, before pulling it over her head. It'd mask her scars. She walked out along the westward road, taking note of the terrain changes and the difference between plant matter when she'd arrived versus plant matter now. The only differences seemed to be a smaller variety of flowers. She spotted the guardian stones and pointed them out.

The nord followed, wishing he had stayed at the forge longer to get better swords... But he'd make do. When the elf pointed at the standing stones, he nodded. 

"Yeah, the guardian stones... I've never gotten close but I hear they help you out if you meditate on one of them. Want to get a closer look?"

She shook her head. "I'm set in my skills." She signed. "If you want to, you can. If you want to try your spells, do that."

He paused, then made his way over to the standing stones. The Thief stone sprung to life as he set his hand on it. Turning back to Laria, he opened his palm and a zap of red life drain flew into the air for a split second. 

"That... Didn't explode, at least." He said.

She nodded. "Try the ice. Not towards me."

Ice-Breath nodded, turning towards a nearby tree. He prepared the spell and cast it, frost spiralling onto the bark. With wide eyes, he turned back to Laria.

"What. Do you want my approval?" She signed. "Do it again. Bring the time needed to prepare it down."

Ice-Breath scoffed. Turning, he noticed a rabbit out of the corner of his eye, and within a split second, cast the drain life spell at it. It whimpered as it collapsed. 

"I can do that one fine..." He murmured...

Laria picked the rabbit up and examined it before motioning for Ice-Breath to keep working. She sat in front of the stones and began butchering the animal, only half paying attention to him.

A deer skidded past and he shot frostbite at the creature as it tumbled down the hill into the river. He darted after the animal's corpse, hoisting it up across his shoulders and making his way back up the hill. 

"At least I'm getting some leather for smithing out of this...."

Laria was leaning against the mage stone, almost reclining. It felt like Cyrodiil, almost, a casualness in necessary brutality while the weight of a world-ending danger hung overhead. She could close her eyes and she'd be in a fort, cleaning a kill and making venomous conversation with an actual hero. 

That was long gone now. She'd made her choice. And apparently Akatosh had a vengeful streak, if her dragonborn aspect said anything. 

"You never tried to cast?" She signed, hands sticky with blood and grime.

"Cast... Spells? N-no... Magic made me... Uncomfortable." Then what had changed? 

A lot, he remembered... A lot had changed... In just twenty four hours... Everything had... Laria seemed... Almost at ease. It was... Nice, to see her in such a state. She always seemed so... Angry. Usually not outwardly,(something the nord was grateful for,) but... 

He didn't know why he had asked her along in the first place. She was a strange one, seeming very disconnected, aloof... An outburst of a whim, he supposed, was the reason, but what that whim meant, he had no idea. 

Perhaps it was the... Brutality, of her ways...The way she fought, the bodies scattered about her crypt... There was something strangely appealing to it. Something he almost didn't want to admit was appealing.

Laria bagged the meat and skin and observed the nord. He acted between helpful and selfish-- which meant she had no real handle on what drove him. Outside of figuring him out he was... okay. He didn't talk incessantly, almost at the other end of the spectrum with Laria. If she was being honest-- which was rare and only happened under duress-- she was fine with the company. _Like it had been._

"What changed?" So her first instinct was still to push and prod at any inconsistencies and potential holes in someone.

He honestly had no idea what he was doing, anyway. Perhaps that's why he asked her to come along. He needed... Someone to keep him on track. 

He was a mercenary before returning to Skyrim.... Before he was plopped in Helgen with nothing to his name. So he just..... Went along with it. That's really what he had been doing.. Just riding along with whatever came at him. He had no sense of purpose, even after realising he was Dragonborn... 

And now he had an eternity of purposelessness. 

When he was a sellsword in Cyrodiil, he knew what he wanted. He wanted money, he wanted to fight and go on adventures, and he wanted to help people. All three things were accomplished with that job. But now, he didn't know what he wanted...

"... A lot has changed." He murmured, staring off into the landscape.

She considered the cost/benefit of continuing to push at him.

"What changed?" She repeated.

He shot a glare at her, one that was much more potent now that he had red, hungry eyes. He didn't know he wanted to open up to her. Not now, at least, after having just met the woman. Even so, they had been through much together already... He sighed angrily.

"What does it matter?" 

Perhaps he was just angry because he didn't know what had changed. 

Or maybe it was because things hadn't changed, but were changing.

"I'm a monster now, for one." He said, trying to fish for something, anything that might make for an adequate answer.

"We are all monsters, nord." She signed, taking part of the deer and butchering its head. "What is this 'Thalmor' Delphine mentioned?"

He scoffed at her comment about monsters, but he decided only to answer her latter question. He had no desire to speak philosophy with such a woman. 

"The Thalmor are scum." He said, nibbling on his knuckles again. He was getting hungry.... "I don't know how long you were in that crypt, but in the past 30 years there was a big war between an extremist group of altmer, and the empire. Damn elves think they're better than the rest of us. They say otherwise, but we all know they want to enslave mankind, like the Ayleids did. People were dying in mountains on both sides, so they came to a 'treaty' that worship of Talos would be outlawed. Can you believe that? Telling someone they can't worship their God, and if they do, they'll be killed, or worse..." He sighed "I used to worship Talos. I'm not... Sure about any of the gods right now, but even without this I -... It's unacceptable. And now with this civil war, the empire is divided. We'd have a better chance of defeating this group of monst-" he stopped, realising what he was about to say, and fell silent. 

Laria took a long moment to process his words. She had missed... a lot, to put it mildly. Then she reacted to the vitriol in his statement, and true to form she began laughing. Something was definitely wrong with her, she knew that, and the mildest part was definitely her tendency to crack up when someone got mad. The knife she used didn't shake as she sliced open the carcass by touch, and all her teeth were on display as she grinned at the nord. 

"Elves?" She spoke, the word spitting out with flecks of blood. She returned to signing. "All the elves banded together to kill man? The altmer and dunmer, lifelong enemies, coupled with the bosmer, who are isolationists on _principle_ , all allied to attack Tamriel as a whole?" She kept laughing, still mostly a rasping, choking sound.

Ice-Breath growled "Look, all I know is that the high elves are trying to make a dominion with the other elves. Perhaps the one who's been stuck in a dusty tomb for ages should listen to the other when talking about current events, huh?" He scoffed "damn elves always think they're better than us..."

Laria stood up, knife gripped in one hand and her other reaching for one of her daggers. She stared at him, tension returning to her body. Her mind scrambled for something to say, realized she couldn't sign, and chose to speak. 

"So the baby vampire insists on his innate superiority." She moved, putting her back to the forest so that if he attacked-- _when_ , her jaded instinct supplied-- she had an escape.

"Wh-what! No! That's not what I meant! I'm not superior to elves! But elves aren't superior to me either, so all I was saying was that I was sick of being treated badly by the elves. " Ice-Breath said frantically. Gods, she looked... Like a frightened cat, almost... Perhaps a frightened sabercat, given her combat ability. The nord stood. "Look, I... I didn't mean to upset you. I'm... Heading back to Riverwood. Give you some space. I have... Something I have to do, anyway."

She nodded slowly, turning and walking into the woods. Namira save her, she needed to hunt. She drank, trying to fix the bleeding in her throat, and stopped. There were people nearby, and that meant either civilians or bandits. She debated the consequences of killing civilians idly, but grinned when what appeared to be a bandit warned her away from a mine entrance. 

"That's close enough, friend." A man said, sword drawn. She gave his dim form a once-over. 

"I'm not your friend." She rasped out and leapt at him.

Ice-Breath made his way back to Riverwood, guilt gnawing at his mind and hunger gnawing at his insides. He didn't want to drink blood - he-.... Was just going to smith... Or steal... A better sword. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who forgot to add on monday  
> me  
> but thats because its happy holidays  
> so there -e


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey  
> HEY  
> Serious fucking warning for child death. A child dies here. It's fucked up.

Within a passing hour, Ice found himself with a pressing issue, one that Laria needed to know about  _ now.  _ He wiped blood from his face onto his sleeve as he slunk into the woods, hoping she was near the stones, where they had set up for that short time. She was not.

"Dammit! Laria!" He called, anger boiling, "Where in  _ Oblivion _ are you!?!?!!?"

 

Laria tore through the mine, more sadistic than efficient, putting fatal wounds into bandits that would leave them to bleed out over the next few minutes. She paused, holding the chief's head in the center of a circle of bodies while drinking from the chief's corpse. She sighed, dropping the body and carrying the head out. It was better now, the ever-present urge to tear the world apart silent for a while. She almost laughed, but didn't, not feeling like ruining the bit of lubrication the blood offered. She stepped into the sun, hissing in discomfort from the brightness in her eyes. She flicked her ears, sure she heard someone shouting.

 

"I swear on Molag’s ballsack, where  _ are  _ you!?-" he stopped... All the shouting wouldn't help him - and if he were caught.... 

He glanced around before heading off in the direction he thought he saw her going, stumbling across... A mine?

 

Laria snorted as she heard the nord's screaming, and waited for him. She'd add that sentence to her list of phrases at the Daedra's expense.

 

Spotting her out of the corner of his eye, Ice-Breath darted over. 

"Laria, we have an issue," he said, a sort of laugh escaping his lips mixed with a whimper.

She stared at him, frowning. 

"How many bodies."

"Uhhh... Just one? But uh... " he paused, not sure what to say "you know Frodnar? Kid of the folks who own the mill?" The nord reached into his bag and pulled out the head of a child "Yeah uh-"

Laria stared at the remains. Memories of her first kill hit her--  _ her mother's order to hunt down and bring back a child, her choosing the boy that had done nothing but harass her, the blood on her hands and the knife, every moment afterward when someone came to her asking for the murder of a pregnant person, a child, the slaughter of an entire family and her outright refusal of each _ \--

She stared at the nord, actual horror and disgust reaching  her face for the first time in years.  _ He is nothing like he was-- _

"What have you done?" She asked, actually speaking as she stepped towards him. "What have you DONE?"

Ice-Breath was taken aback. Was she... Was she legitimately upset? Disgusted? His look of surprise morphed into a scowl "I KILLED THE KID! THAT’S WHAT I DID! What's it to you, huh? You think I don't feel awful ab-a-" his words fluttered into silence as tears threatened to spill over. But he had to stifle a laugh. What was funny? Nothing about this was funny! But he had to laugh anyway, while tears streamed down his cheeks. 

She hit him. Open palm, fingernails out like claws, across his right cheek

"Where is the body? Where is the rest of him?" She asked, almost shouting 

Shock shot through him as the elf slapped him, and he growled and clenched his fist, holding back the want to punch the woman into oblivion. 

"There  _ isn’t  _ a body! I -" the laughter returned as he looked away. 

Gods, what had he become? 

"It's... Shreds, pieces. When they find him all they will see will be a scattering of little bits of flesh, pools of  blood." He chuckled again as the tears continued. He didn't know what his body was doing, why he was acting as he was

And the woman who he thought didn't-- _ Wouldn't  _ care about  _ anybody _ ... Was upset?

She took the head from him, walking towards the mine entrance. She threw it inside then turned back to him.

"Wolves. Bandits. Werewolves." She said. "Track the head here--did anyone see you?"

He covered his mouth with his hand "I don't... I don't know... I'm too scared to go back... I was so hungry...."

She stared at him, mouth thinning into a line. "We head for Kynesgrove now. You go around, I tell Delphine." She signed, walking towards the town before pausing and turning back to him. "This is what happens when you don't feed regularly." 

She'd explain the need for new-bloods to feed more often when they began walking. She decided it was better the housecarl hadn't stayed, because she definitely wouldn't have stood for anything that just happened.

"But I just... Fed... Yesterday..." He murmured, but let it go for the moment. He nodded, and began walking around to meet them on the road to Kynesgrove. 

He hoped Riverwood wouldn't be in too much of a stir when Laria got there, but he knew that no matter how much he hoped it, the opposite would be true.

 

Riverwood was in an uproar. The corpse --pieces of the corpse-- had been found, and the people were tearing the place apart trying to find the culprit. The only saving grace was that apparently no one had seen Ice-Breath kill the child. The apathy Laria held was fake, every part of the vestigial emotions she still had screaming for the nord's head. She mentioned seeing wolves dragging something towards the mine, setting what she assumed was the mother--  _ the knowledge sat foul in her bones _ \-- running for the woods. She prodded Delphine. 

"We will meet you at Kynesgrove." She said. If Delphine was confused or suspicious Laria ignored it -- _ a fatal mistake, her instincts said _ \-- and she walked out the east gate as calm as she could pretend to be.

Ice-Breath whispered from the brush as he saw her walk past, across the bridge. "L-Laria?" 

She probably hated him right now. He didn't blame her. He hated himself right now too. 

What he hated most, however, was that he came to realize.

He liked it. 

He liked ripping that kid apart. 

Guilt set in again -- How could he think something like that!? The family would be traumatised, mourning for the rest of their lives and - 

He shook his head. Kynesgrove. Attention should be set towards Kynesgrove.

She didn't look at him, barely making a waving motion. The rage she'd shed in the mine had returned, the constant rhythm of  _ kill kill kill kill kill _ pounding in her head. She could feel the heartbeats of everyone around her, barely making up for her own lack of one, and now the lack of a pulse in the nord. She'd find the bandit camps. She'd find society's guilty. She'd do what she'd done before,  _ clean house _ and while last time the world had feared her, this time  _ they'd love her _ . Their saviour in every sense of the word. Save the world, save the people, and when their guards were lowered, tear them limb from limb. 

She didn't stop walking, eyes forward on the roadside towers and buildings where people hid and ambushed travellers. The sick irony of  _ we are not travellers _ sat with her and while she knew what her fingers in a man's eye sockets ripping the skull backward to snap the neck felt like, it hadn't happened recently enough. She knew how the first one she reached would die.

Ice-Breath followed, his temper coming back. The least she could do was offer a little bit of forgiveness - she  _ ate  _ people for Ysmir’s sake. He began nibbling on his knuckles again, this time more as a distraction from his want to punch the elf in the face than to get rid of anxiety. He didn't say anything. He hoped she wouldn't either.

She pointed at the tower they were approaching, and without saying anything charged the bandit. The woman didn't have time to really react before Laria had a hand on her head and pulled backwards. Her neck snapped and Laria darted into the tower proper, heading upwards as the fallen woman's fellows raised an alarm.

He was itching for a fight anyway. 

As Laria charged the woman out front, the nord swung into the tower itself, ripping his dual swords across flesh. The bandit fell, and another came at him- he responded with a quick decapitation.

Laria leapt forward, sinking fangs into a man's neck. He screamed, trying to fight her off but she held on. His friend, a bosmer with a war hammer, hit Laria in the back, knocking both of them out a hole in the tower wall.

As Ice-Breath turned, he saw Laria fall.! As the bosmer finished his swing, the nord grabbed him by the collar of his armor, and swung him around to face him as he stuck him through, a sadistic grin crawling into his face as he saw the life dwindle from the bandit's eyes. From there he dropped the man and rushed forward, looking over the edge to check Laria's status- 

An arrow struck him in the side.

Laria stood up, drawing her bow and aiming at an archer carefully. Her knee had bent wrong again, though she'd just snap it back in place and keep moving again. Her arrow hit, the archer falling to the ground. She headed back up, setting her knee roughly, the joint cracking as it locked back into its proper place.

Ice-Breath rushed over to her, one hand across his abdomen where the arrow hit, the other holding out a healing potion towards Laria.

She pointed at the potion and then himself before shooting another bandit in the eye, the implication 'drink it yourself' hopefully obvious.

He scoffed at her suggestion and shoved it back into his bag, forcing himself to stand back up straight. He knelt down into a sneak position and rushed up the stairs towards the archer above, slitting her neck with one swift movement from behind, one she hadn't seen coming.

Laria glared at the nord, taking a running leap at a woman in carved nordic armor with dwarven axes. Her daggers went through the open joints at the shoulders and she pointed the blades inward. The woman screamed and Laria ripped the blades out and put them on either side of the woman's neck, pushing them across and decapitating her. The body fell and Laria turned back to the nord sharply.

Ice-Breath glared back... And he noticed how... Colourful the night seemed. 

He shook his head and redirected his attention to the last bandit, an archer on a cliff side nearby. He took out his bow and shot an arrow at the man, but it missed. He growled in frustration.

Laria let him deal with the bandit and began digging through the corpses belongings, pocketing as much poison and gold as she could reasonably carry.

He scoffed, sending another arrow into the air, which pierced the bandit in the stomach. With that taken care of, he turned around to see a giant chest, and his eyes glimmered. Inside he pulled out a number of sparkly gems, trinkets he practically drooled over, and headed back to meet Laria as he shoved them in his bag. 

Without thinking he began licking the blood off of his sword - wha... What? What was he doing?

She pointed to the corpses, signing, "New bloods require more blood. Take your fill, feed next time we find bandits."

He shook his head "N-no, I just... I just..."

"You just what.

"F-fed." He finished... And he... Didn't... It was... So wrong, he thought, that he wanted to drink the very life essence of  _ people _ . 

_ He _ was a person...

... _ was _ .... 

Tears threatened him again and he used anger to keep them at bay, bending down and feeding from the body of the wood elf with the warhammer.

She turned and walked away, digging through the meager selection of books. She threw a spell tome at his head after reading 'healing' on the cover.

He yelped and jumped up, his mouth bloody, as the book hit his head . He picked it up, but not before giving Laria a glare first.

"I'm not the best at.... Reading..." He mumbled. It wasn't that he  _ couldn't _ read, it was just that it wasn't something he often did... Or had an interest in doing. Or had been taught to do. Regardless, he opened up the book and began trying to decipher the tome.

Laria cleaned her daggers and took a few extra arrows from the corpses, checking her surroundings as she downed a healing potion outside the tower.

As the nord finished reading, he headed outside the tower where Laria was. 

"... Look, I know it wasn't your responsibility at all... I know I should have been keeping better track... But... Why didn't you... Try and get me cured when I still could be?" 

He was ashamed to even ask the question - but his curiosity outweighed the shame.

"What part of 'you're sick' wasn't me trying to make you get help." Laria signed.

He stared off into the distance "... You're right...."

She shrugged. "What's done is done. Keep moving and we make it by dawn." She headed up the road, picking mushrooms.

He grumbled "Easy for you to say." But followed behind.

She didn't try to make conversation, there wasn't really a point. As long as they didn't try and kill each other before they reached wherever they were going she'd count it as a victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ice you twat"-- Chariotschariots, 2018 --e


	6. Chapter 6

They got to Kynesgrove with little to no conversation, fighting off bandits and stray wolves. The knowledge of the last day’s kill tearing at the nord’s mind, pumping guilt into his every thought, every movement. Eventually, however, Ice-Breath had to speak. 

"I grew up around here. The burial mound is right up the hill, if I remember right..."

She glanced at him. "I am not going in another cave." She signed bluntly. She'd been out of the barrow just long enough that the concept of going back underground made her skin crawl. 

He furrowed his brow, confused. Hadn't she spent like the last forever, in an old crypt? "No, no cave. Just a pile of dirt. Or what might no longer be just a pile of dirt if we're too late."

She began walking faster, the town they were heading for in the distance. Once she'd removed the draugr it'd been easy to deal with-- no, that had been a lie. She'd been stuck in the barrow and had lied to herself. Studying the carvings had been something to do, listening to the wall had been something to do, and in every turn she took, her hunger for knowledge overtook her survival sense. They'd trapped her in a tomb but she had turned it on them and made it her fortress. The town was closer, and Delphine was waiting.

This woman really was an enigma, Ice-Breath thought, anxiousness drawing up through his feet. Delphine was waiting for them at Kynesgrove. 

"We're uh... Ready to fight a dragon." He said, peering warily up at the sky. The sun would be up soon.

Delphine led them up the hill towards a burial mound. They hid behind a rock as a massive black dragon hung above them, speaking to the bones of another dragon as it crawled from the earth. The dragon became whole again, and the black dragon turned and spoke to the three, mocking their efforts and chiding their lack of knowledge of the dragon tongue. Laria flipped the dragons off.

"That's the dragon from Helgen." Ice-Breath murmured, looking up at the big black monstrosity with awe. He grabbed his bow from his back and aimed it at the creature, but it flew off, leaving the three against Sahloknir.

Laria didn't hesitate in moving for a different position, aiming her own arrows at the wing joints. The first two shots hit as Sahloknir took off, shouting at them and spitting ice. She turned, bow already loosing another arrow and hitting its tail.

The dragon fell as the other had, but on the ground it continued to try and fight. The nord took out his swords instead, getting up close and personal. He hacked at the dragon's eyes, and the dragon used his wing to push one of Ice-Breath's swords from his hand. The weapon skittered away and fell off the edge of a rock - so Ice-Breath did what his instincts told him to do. He opened his palm and began using the drain spell.

Laria darted forward, putting her daggers in the dragon's neck and pulling back, moving around and slicing whatever parts she could reach.

Delphine shot arrows from afar, stopping as she noticed the vampiric drain spell but putting that aside for the moment to continue fighting the dragon. Ice-Breath slashed at creatures face, jumping back to avoid the burst of fire that flew by.

Laria stared at the dragon, running through her knowledge of the Thu'um. All she came up with was part of the unrelenting force shout and yelling random words at the dragon. She chose to scream 'Leech', which ended up with her shouting " **LUN** " at the dragon.

The dragon felt itself being drained, and with one last arrow Delphine took the creature down. Its soul tore from its body and flew to the two Dragonborn.

Laria staggered, the soul sliding under her skin and running through long unused veins. She could see a world bathed in fire, glimpses of Skyrim's formation, and centuries of knowledge and understanding ending with two arrows to the neck and the red eyes of a nord-but-not.

A similar sensation happened to Ice-Breath, and he trembled as images flashed before him and links were made in his brain. 

Delphine watched the two in awe, astonishment for the elf, and disdain for the nord. 

"So you really are Dragonborn..." She said, looking between the two "I would say that I owe you some answers but-" her eyes drifted towards Ice-Breath "I think you owe me some too."

Laria casually repositioned herself so she had a direct line of attack should Delphine decide to kill the nord. Two dragonborn meant one could safely die and the world wouldn't be put in jeopardy, though she wasn't going to let the gods have that much influence over her without a fight.  _ She wasn’t letting it happen again without a fight. _

Ice-Breath flashed his teeth and readied his sword. "If you try anything, I'll kill you." 

Delphine shook her head. "I'm not going to attack you. You're Dragonborn, and we're sworn to protect you. I am one of the last remaining members of the Blades. I assume you know who the Blades were?"

"Bunch of shitheads who couldn't protect the emperors," Laria hissed. "You got the last two Septims killed and look where we ended up." She knew it was also regret fuelling her words, but she never liked the Blades on principle.

Delphine looked in Laria's direction and sighed. "Perhaps that's true. But before then, we were dragon hunters. I assume you still want this world to exist, right? You'll need my help if you have any chance of stopping these creatures." 

Ice-Breath lowered his weapon "I-I'm sorry for threatening you. I hope you know I don't mean you any harm - I..." anxiety boiled up in him again, "That dragon. The big black one. I've seen him before. At Helgen. I was about to be wrongfully executed and-" 

"So that's the dragon that attacked Helgen?" Delphine said before shaking her head. "We're stumbling around in the dark here! .... I need some time to come up with a plan. Meet me back in Riverwood."

Laria waved her arms in a noncomittal manner and began breaking bones off of the dragon, letting Delphine leave.

As Delphine left, Ice-Breath turned to Laria. "Uh... While we're here.... I'm gonna... Stop by Windhelm. I'm going to do what... What I originally came back to Skyrim to do. You don't need to come with me if you don't want."

Laria shrugged, signing "I'd prefer to see how the cities have changed" before following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look we're 6 chapters in and time isn't real, updates should be on monday but sometimes things happen, especially if the authors are goblins --e


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEy fuckers guess what  
> /I'm/ posting the chapter this time  
> Shhh don't tell anyone  
> ~d

Ice-Breath breathed in deeply as he entered the city. It was... Bittersweet, being home again. The sweetness left and only the bitter remained, however, when he heard an all too familiar voice next to a not so familiar voice.  
"You come in where you aren't wanted, you pollute the city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" An ugly nord spat at a dunmer woman standing in the street.  
"We don't choose a side because it's not out fight!"  
"You're probably an imperial Spy!"  
"An imperial Spy!? Have you gone insane?"  
"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We have ways of -"  
The vampire interjected. "Well if it isn't Stone-Fist!? I would have hoped you would've found some other hobbies besides harassing refugees and fucking horses, but it seems you've stayed the same as ever." Rolff narrowed his eyes, taking a few moments to realize who it was.  
"I-Ice-Breath? What in Oblivion happened to you?"  
Laria didn't care enough about the two nords' history to wait for their conversation to finish. She pushed her way towards the other nord, looming over him and sending him backwards. She was well above average height for a dark elf, taller than many nords, and that was the best part of intimidating them.  
"Get back, filthy grayskin." The man said. Laria punched him.  
Ice-Breath smiled a sadistic grin as he watched the elf intimidate Stone-Fist, but his mind wandered to the graveyard outside of the hall of the dead. A subtle burn pierced his skin as the sun loomed above the horizon. He'd watch for now, to make sure Laria didn't go as far as to kill the man, but....  
Laria turned back to Stone-Fist, glaring at him.  
"What the fuck, damn dark elf, you come in here and act like you own the place?" The nord shouted. Laria walked towards him.  
"I will drive you into the ground." She said quietly. He scoffed, raising his fists, but she punched him in the jaw, hard enough to dislocate it. He fell backward, enraged, but wasn't prepared for her hands on his throat.  
"Do not call me grayskin. Do not call the dunmer grayskin. You push any elf around again, I will rip your head off and wear your face as a hat." Her eyes bored into his and she dropped him, stalking away after Ice-Breath.  
Ice-Breath chuckled, but made his way to the hall of the dead. He went to find the priest or priestess of Arkay.  
Upon finding her, he asked. "Is uh... I'm..." He whispered his first name, "-Ice-Breath. My... Mother should be in here somewhere. The priestess nodded, waving him towards one of the chambers, and handing him a wooden box.  
"She left this for you." He nodded, looking at the casket where his mother's body now lay. Opening the box, all that was inside was a broken farming hoe and a letter. A feeling of dread fell through his stomach...  
And he was right. Upon opening the letter he found only insults, angry scribbles about how he left her, about what a horrible child he had always been, asking how he could treat her like this after the death of his father. He sighed, gently placing the letter back into the box and then the box onto the ground before his mother's resting place. What did he expect?  
With that, he left the hall of the dead and made his way to the Cornerclub in the Grey Quarter.  
Laria followed, nords staring at her as she passed. The worst two she had punched, though as soon as she reached the Grey Quarter she began to be greeted as a dunmer.  
"Hail, sister." Someone said. She shook her head, unwilling to begin arguing, and went into the corner club.  
As they walked into the club, the barkeep stopped what he was doing. "Well I'll be... Ice-Breath!? Is that really you?"  
The nord grinned, "The one and only!"  
"Where on Nirn have you been!?"  
"Cyrodiil, for the most part. Now I'm back here. But there isn't much to say about things on my end. How've you been, my friend?"  
"Ugh... If I'm going to be honest with you, things have only gotten worse. Ulfric Stormcloak has seemed to have forgotten about us completely. What with his 'civil war' and all."  
The nord scoffed "Ulfric is a milkdrinker and a coward. He has no right calling himself a nord." He paused, thinking back to the hall of the dead.... "I'm assuming your bar still has mead? I'll take a bottle or two of that." He turned to Laria "Do you want a drink?"  
Laria shook her head, and signed a basic greeting in the dunmer variant of sign language.  
"Huh. How long have you been in this Azura-damned country, sister?"  
"Not your sister. About 200 years." Laria responded.  
Ice-Breath downed a bottle of mead without even flinching, but turned to watch the conversation between the two elves. Something about Laria seemed... Uncomfortable. Perhaps he should have gone to Candlehearth Hall instead.  
He shook his head. It wasn't his problem unless a fight broke out. He hoped it wouldn't. He went back to catching up with the barkeep - a friend of his from when he was younger - and ordered two more bottles of mead. He was anything but a lightweight.  
Laria began signing at the barkeep,  
"Who is Ulfric."  
"You've been here 200 years and haven't heard of him?" The dunmer asked.  
"I've been away from towns for 30." She signed. It wasn't a full lie, but even if it was she wouldn't care.  
"Okay. Well Ulfric is the Jarl of Windhelm, thinks he's going to be the high king. Decided that since Talos worship was banned he can fight the whole damn Empire-- and before that he made sure the dunmer could only live and work here, in the 'gray quarter'. Damn nord won't lift a finger to help any of us, not when there are nords saying they've been wronged by us."  
"You've been wronged by us, if you ask me. " the nord said, beginning to slur as he popped open another bottle.  
Laria stared at him, forehead creasing and confusion reaching her face. She debated mentioning his comment about elves believing themselves superior and decided to just wait for him to hit the floor.  
The barkeep chuckled. Obviously this was nothing new for the nord - or any nord, for that matter.  
"Laria..." He muttered "What’s with your face? You look... Confu-...Confused." Perhaps he should slow down. But he didn't want to. Not today.  
Especially not today.  
In the back of his mind all he could remember was his mother spewing venom when she was alive.  
He chuckled  
Yeah, when _he_ was alive too.  
Laria narrowed her eyes, not responding and handed the barkeep her water skin to refill. She handed him a ruby in payment and took a swig.  
"Laria--Why aren't you signing back?” He let out a boisterous laugh “I never know what you're thinking..." He said.  
Laria flipped him off and ordered wine.  
"H-Hey! Whazzat for!?!? I didn't do anything to you!" He said, offended.  
She locked eyes with him as she downed the entire bottle of wine. She'd done something similar a while ago, _watching another nord drink an entire crate of Cyrodiilic brandy while telling her about the argonian he was crushing on._  
"Nothing is worse than a drunk nord" she signed to the barkeep, who laughed.  
"Especially if they decide to not pay." He replied.  
"Awe Laria you're so mean to me! I thought we were friends!" He reached into his bag and pulled out a number of coins, tossing them on the counter "I pay! Look-"  
"I don't have friends." She signed before handing the barkeep another ruby in exchange for more wine.  
He laughed, almost malicious in tone "You are so full of shit! Try all you want to deny it, but... You’re just… So full of shit--”  
"All my friends are dead." She signed. "In the ground not undead." _Any that aren’t, they will be soon._  
The nord help up a finger "You have me. I'm your friend. Don't you fucking try and tell me otherwise. I'm not de-... In the ground yet!..." He paused "...Your other friends... What were they like?"  
She shook her head, unwilling to speak in a public place. "Did you find the crypt." She signed instead.  
He furrowed his brow "What crypt? We're looking for a crypt? Whaaaat are you talking...."  
She put her face in one hand, signing "where the fuck did you go earlier" with the other.  
"Oh! The- the Hall of the Dead?" He said, and began to laugh, but stared in front of him into space with glassy eyes, clutching the bottle so tightly it seemed as if he might break it.  
"Where are there beds." Laria signed to the barkeep, making an executive decision to get him away from the alcohol.  
The barkeep chuckled, given the time of day, but gestured up the stairs. "Second floor, first door on the left."  
"N-no! I don't - I don't want to sleep!" Ice-Breath yelped "I..." His voice got quieter "My dreams..."  
Laria glared at him. "I don't expect you to sleep I expect you to not act like a drunken mess in public." She signed. She knew it was harsh but the fewer eyes on them the better.  
"I’ll act how I please!" He said, probably too loud. He hadn't gotten this bad in a long time... not since he got kicked out of that inn in Skingrad.  
Laria put her head in her hand. "I will be in the room." She signed, handed the barkeep a diamond, and left. If the nord wanted to make a mess then she was not going to be there for it.  
He growled, but followed her.  
As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed her by his side now. Mainly to try and set him on some sort of path - he didn't even care what anymore.  
As soon as she stepped into the room and knew the nord was in there with her, she turned, ready to bowl him over should the situation go south.  
"There are things that need to be discussed. I do not trust you. I do not believe that you won't put a weapon in my back as soon as you no longer require my assistance. I do not believe you won't put me up as the murderer of the child. I would know what you've done. Why did you come to Windhelm. You also have questions that must be answered." The words hurt, but _she did not know this man_ \--  
"Seriously? Right now? Laria -..." His look of anger morphed into one of legitimate hurt. "Why in Oblivion would I hurt you!? I murdered the child. If something happens and someone finds out.... I don't..." he realized that there really was nothing stopping him from going into hiding in that situation. He had nothing to lose. "I'm not going to hurt you! Why do you always think I'm going to hurt you!?!? Did you not just hear me tell you that you're my friend!? Who hurt you that made you think that everybody's out to hurt you?" He growled at her comment about Windhelm, getting legitimately angry - using all of what good judgement he had left in him not to punch her in the face, for if he did, he would prove her right. "I Came to Windhelm to-- My mother passed away. I got the news and came back because--" He sunk his teeth into his finger "She obviously didn't want me to. I almost got my head chopped off, I've been fighting dragons, died in a different way just to try to - ... tell her goodbye. I gave up everything to tell her goodbye and -" he stopped. He's gotten too emotional. Laria wouldn't care. She wouldn't care one bit.  
Laria stared at him. She stared at him for a long time, slowly dropping the glare, the tension, and every bit of concealed rage. Her shoulders sagged, and instead of a hyper-competent warrior she just seemed... exhausted. She sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall.  
"I was seven when I killed for the first time." She signed. "The boy was eight. He had harassed and bullied me. From all aspects, it was a big human picking on a little dark elf. The woman who birthed me, needed a heart, organs, and told me to kill and bring back a body. I chose him." She stared at her hands, long bony fingers mottled with burns and scars. "I am a predator. The thing you put on a chain and only release when someone has to die. She taught me that. The man who created me taught me that no one would..." she stopped signing, trying to form a sentence. "'Man is fickle. Your fellows will betray you first chance they get. Always take the better offer, always _be_ the better offer'. I do not understand why you would say you are my friend, Ice-Breath. There is nothing to me except the tool of an empire's destruction." She sighed, regretting every choice she'd ever made.  
His red eyes, since clouded with anger, softened into a look of empathy. He stood silent, trying to think of the right thing to say, eventually settling on, "I would be sad if you went away, Laria." Silence ensued, and he searched desperately for other words, but his mind was fogged, and he didn't know how to verbally express what he wanted to say.  
So, against his better judgement, he hugged the woman he wanted to punch mere moments before.  
She froze. He was holding her in place-- there would be an attack towards her and there wasn't anywhere for her to go-- she wasn't attacked. He just hugged her. The last time that had happened was... When she'd left.  
Saval had hugged her, told her to come home soon, and she knew she wasn't going to.  
Before that, it had been the night before everything went to shit.  
She'd had a conversation with Rin, Martin had been checking the translation, Saval had been eating as much ham and good bread as he could reach, had been smacked away from the food by an altmer too full of himself for his own good. She’d had a normal conversation, he’d hugged her before, [i]excited for what they’d become in the future[/i]--  
Before Rin had went into Paradise, the man who shared his eyes hugged her, promising a better future, one where she had the ear of an emperor. She'd talked to the man-who-would-be-king, laughed at him, finally made a crack about someone's eating habits that made him laugh, and then...  
She didn't move. There wasn't anything she could do, returning the hug was pointless, fighting him off wasn't worth the effort, and apparently the nord had no real friends so that left her, which was absolutely confusing to her. She sighed.  
Ice-Breath eventually stepped back, his eyes drifting towards the bed. "I think... maybe I should sleep this off. But-"  
His dreams had been weird. Vivid. They'd been of Cyrodiil but not... not the Cyrodiil he knew. Like memories... that he knew never happened. "No I.. Can't. Not right now." He settled on. "You sleep."  
She snorted, tension returning. "I don't sleep." She hissed. It was fairly accurate, she didn't rest at all, preferring to be in a state of constant motion until someone finally felled her and she laid on the ground for six hours before getting up and killing whomever delivered the 'killing' blow, often brutally and over the course of several hours.  
Ice-Breath rolled his eyes, but plopped down, sitting on the bed. He wouldn't sleep. But perhaps...  
"Do you ever have... strange dreams? Or flashes of memories? But they... aren't real. They never happened. But they feel like they did." If he wasn't this drunk, he probably wouldn't have even mentioned it. He probably shouldn't mention it. But - if she was to trust him... he had to trust her.  
"No." she told him, not moving from the wall. "My own memories, yes. Others', no." She clarified.  
He bit his lip, wincing again. He needed to stop doing that.  
"I have memories of Cyrodiil. But it's not the Cyrodiil I know. It's... none of it was destroyed, like it was when I was there. Except... one city... I can't tell which one it was... It was around the area of Kvatch but... and there were... people... People I swear I know but I... I've never met them."  
Laria knew what he was referencing. She'd stood in the rubble of a city, after the fires had burned out and the daedra had been destroyed. She'd lived the visions he had.  
"The Oblivion Crisis." She told him.  
He furrowed his brow, "The thing that happened... 200 years ago? What about it? What does the Oblivion Crisis have to do with this?"  
"You see Kvatch. You stand in the ruins of Kvatch. The first city destroyed in the Crisis. Did they ever rebuild it?"  
He nodded "Yes, they rebuilt Kvatch... It didn't... last too much longer because of the invasion by the Aldmeri Dominion but..." He looked confused "Why would I be seeing Kvatch? Oblivion Crisis Kvatch?... And There's a temple... It looks... Strange... Like how someone describes the Akaviri buildings... And... An old breton man... and an imperial," Tears welled up in his eyes as the thought of the imperial came to his mind "I - oh gods -" why, why was he crying? "I can't remember his face. But everything else is so r-real..."  
Laria winced. Martin had treated her with respect. Exasperation and annoyance, of course, but always with a level of respect. From one scholar to another, she guessed.  
"The emperor. Martin Septim." She said quietly.  
"What? Martin Septim? The last - " he clenched his teeth before murmuring, "I'm so confused"  
"Welcome to the gods damned group." Laria told him, drinking from the skin.  
"Why do I remember these things? Why do I have memories of _Martin Septim_!?" He said, relentless in his confusion  
"How would I know?" Laria snapped. _She knew_. It was... more painful than it used to be, remembering.  
Ice-Breath scoffed. "Well you obviously know what I'm talking about before I even do. Unless you're pranking me..."  
She spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. "I don't have foresight. I am alive because I had to process and gauge people's emotions and reactions before they truly did and make plans based on that." She sighed. "I knew the Emperor. I knew the Heroes. You asked me where my friends were, I told you they were dead. Those were three of my five friends."  
Ice-Breath stopped, stock still. Oh. He shouldn't have said anything after all. He thought about the way she said she survived this long - and how that was something he couldn't do.  
"I'm going to sleep." He said flatly, and lay down, face first.  
She shrugged, more for her benefit that his, and didn't move from her spot, willing to just stare at the wall and hate every action she'd ever taken.  
She could see the Imperial City, lit by a red sky and on fire. Dremora charging them, a huge wave of hellspawn, and if she hadn't run, if she hadn't judged the situation for her own immediate gain-- _the only choice she’d made using emotions rather than logic_ \-- they would have reached the palace in time. She saw Rin later, haunted, staring at her in horror from the other side of a street in Anvil. He wasn't human any more. He smelled of Daedra and untold power. She'd ignored him. Ignored the fact that she'd killed the men he loved. There had been two. A nord and a bosmer. She’d been so close to the nord. She’d pointed out constellations and he’d let her explain how the world worked even though she knew he couldn’t understand most of it. He loved Martin as well. _And she had destroyed all of their lives._

The nord awoke in the evening, a throbbing headache, a parched throat, gnawing hunger.  
And much embarrassment.  
He got up, holding his head in his hands. The dreams had come back. This time of... A house in the Imperial City. And... The cold... And the dream morphed into a nightmare. A confusing one. Where he saw a face that wasn't his on a name that was his - morphing into another face he didn't know.

Laria had left, buying more wine with gemstones and heading up to the rest of Windhelm. She kept her hood up, letting the nords she passed stare at the dark elf. The man she'd threatened--Stone-Fist-- was near the inn, and began shouting obscenities at her, culminating in her looming over him once again.  
"Did you not understand my words earlier?" She hissed.  
"I think you had an ambush and that wasn't a real fight." The nord replied.  
"Would you like to be driven into the ground again?" She snarled.  
"I'd like to break your face on the flagstones." She held up an emerald.  
"Bet." She said. He grinned.  
"That's a worthwhile bet. You're on." He said, raising his fists. She tossed the gem in her hand a few times and as he prepped his swing she punched him in the jaw, sending him to the ground.

Laria wasn't in the room... Ice-Breath sighed. He supposed he'd have to go out and look for her.  
Both physically, and mentally, he felt awful. Not at all prepared for the day ahead. He slipped out of the bar, remaining unseen - just as he wanted. Embarrassment was a terrible feeling.  
Once out in the brisk, cold air, he felt a little better. The sun was setting - and he was hungry... But...  
He walked towards the main gate, outside Candlehearth Hall, and spotted the elf.  
Standing above a beaten Rolff. He chuckled. There would be no end to the amusement his pain brought.  
Laria heard him coming. She didn't feel like letting the nord live any longer than necessary and turned to Ice-Breath.  
"Death?" She signed, then clarified, "for this lump."  
Ice-Breath's grin turned almost malicious, and he nodded, gesturing to follow him, hoping Laria would bring the other nord with her. He led them to an isolated alley.  
"Should be... Safe here..."  
Laria had a skill, one she'd worked on for years. It was probably an aspect of the Thu'um, but for her needs it was how she could convince people to do horrific things. So she spoke, a spell weaving between her words.  
"Walk to the alley and do not speak." Rolff obeyed, gaze unfocused. She slit his throat deftly, setting the body down before signing,  
"Drink, I put the pieces in your bag, we leave and properly deal with the corpse."  
Ice-Breath nodded, bending down and drinking deeply -  
Until it hit him that it was Rolff.  
A person he'd known since he was a child...  
He smirked. Good riddance.  
Laria bagged the pieces, taking the time to chew on a severed finger. "There is a child summoning the Dark Brotherhood here. I would talk with him." She signed absently, tossing the sack at Ice-Breath.  
Ice-Breath caught the bag and furrowed his brow. "How in Oblivion would you know that?"  
Laria stared at him like he was an idiot. "People talk. Including the dunmer who gave you all the alcohol."  
He scoffed. "Whatever. Let's go talk to this kid."'  
She blew a raspberry and headed for the building. She broke in easily, pausing for a moment.  
"You keep your distance." She said, wiping blood from her face before she walked into the building.  
He rolled his eyes "No, I come and see what's going on." Against her command, he walked up the steps.  
She walked up behind a child stabbing a heart and chanting repeatedly, before snapping her fingers. He stood up, wide eyed and asked if she was with the Brotherhood. She nodded, letting him explain the hit he wanted put on the orphanage keeper in Riften. Grelod the Kind, he said, hurt him, and all the children in the orphanage. Laria had a vivid memory of a basement in High Rock, and a wealthy family who held her there. She put a hand over her heart and bowed to him, mimicking an altmer salute, before turning away.  
Ice-Breath stayed silent throughout the whole affair, but spoke after they left the building. "Are you really going to take a contract from the Dark Brotherhood themselves? What if they kill you?"  
Laria snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time they tried." She signed proudly. "I am an assassin by trade. Those who did not want to summon the Brotherhood came to me. And when the Brotherhood came for me I killed them."  
The nord sighed. At this point, he wasn't surprised. "Well if I get in the line of fire when they come for you, let me tell you that I'll be saving my own ass first."  
Laria snorted. "I expected nothing less."  
He rolled his eyes. "Riften it is then?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's updating  
> thats right its finally here, a new chapter  
> well its not new its like 6 months old but shhhhh -e

Riften was worse than Laria remembered. It smelled like mould and fish and the amount of moisture in the air clung to her skin. She paused, beginning to form a plan. Finding the orphanage would be simple. From there she'd need an exit, somewhere to hide for a bit until she could feasibly get out without the guards attacking her.

Her target was on the far side of town, near the keep, and she took inventory of her gear. She'd only need one dagger for her job.

Ice-Breath breathed deeply.  There was always something about Riften he liked.  Couldn't quite put his finger on it - as the place was notorious for being a hive of criminal activity, but something about it seemed... fresh.  

He walked forward, glancing back at the elf. "Looks like the orphanage is over there.  I wonder if-" He cut himself off as his gaze drifted towards another nord near the market stands, his face flushing (as well as it could for someone without a heartbeat.) Jumping back, he tapped Laria on the shoulder rapidly "I was not made aware there were going to be pretty people here.... By the nine, I can go no further...."

Laria glanced at the nord, and sighed. "Go flirt with the man, I'll be done soon." She signed, as casually as one about to go get groceries. She walked into the orphanage.

"You know I’m going to-” But she was already in the orphanage.  He sighed, and turned to walk towards the market stalls, but found that the man he had his eyes on had approached him already. 

"Looking a little light on coin, eh lad?" 

"Uh- Wait, excuse me?" He said, brows furrowed, muscles tense, ready to fight if need be... 

"It's all in the way they walk, lad." 

He raised an eyebrow "Okay, and what's it to you?  Unless you're proposing a way to get more coin, I'd advise you to mind your own business-" 

"Ah, but money is my business, lad. And I do, in fact, have a proposition for you.  You see, there's a merchant that one of my clients wants to see put out of business.... There'd be coin in it for you, if you'd help me out." 

Ice-Breath relaxed a little "I'm listening..."

 

Laria stood in the entryway, listening as a woman shouted at a group of children. She slowly walked towards the woman, who looked up at her, furious. 

"Who are you?" She snarled. 

"Grelod the Kind?" Laria rasped. 

"Aye, that I am. Now get out of this orphanage. None of these brats are up for adoption." Laria kept walking towards her, pulling down her hood. She had at least five inches on the woman, and promptly buried five inches of daedric dagger in her chest. 

"Aventus Aretino called the hit. I delivered." She said softly and dropped the corpse.

 

"Alright then.. are you ready?" 

Ice-Breath nodded. 

"Here's the plan. Madesi has a strongbox under his stand.  In it should be a silver ring. I'll start a distraction - and while everybody else has their eyes on me, I need you to steal that ring and plant it in Brand Shei's pocket." 

Ice-Breath smirked. "You've chosen the right man for the job. I'm ready whenever you are." 

Brynjolf nodded and began calling out, telling the others to gather around and listen about his new miracle cure. Without a second's hesitation, Ice-Breath snuck behind Madesi's stand and picked both the lock on the stand itself, then on the strongbox.  He pulled out the ring, made his way over to the dunmer merchant, and slipped the stolen in his pocket. 

Just in time, too, as the others seemed tired of Brynjolf's scheme, and went back to business as usual. Ice-Breath walked over to Brynjolf, beaming. 

"Told you." 

"Aye, lad." Brynjolf said "Good job.  It's good that our little plan went off without a hitch. I hate to have to admit, my organisation has been in a bad spot lately." He held out a sack of coins. "Here's your pay. ... And there's more where that came from. If you're interested, meet me in the Ragged Flagon, in the ratway beneath the city." 

Ice-Breath looked through the bag, and then back up at Brynjolf. "You can count me in." 

"I sure hope so."

 

Laria turned and left quickly, slinking into the darker corners of the city and waiting for guards to move past. She darted out and down to the water level, heading for an entrance to the sewers to hide in.

 

Ice-Breath made his way down to the sewers, where he had been told the Ragged Flagon would be located. Hopefully Laria wouldn't mind him taking a little bit of extra time in Riften... 

He opened up the gate, and found none other than the elf he was traveling with.  He raised an eyebrow. 

"Did you kill the defenceless old lady, then?"

She snorted and held up a blood soaked hand. "Dead as fuck." She said.

He chuckled, "Good job, bet it was a very tough kill." His words dripped in sarcasm "I hope you weren't returning to the kid right away though. I've uh... Found something to do."

She made a face. "You have something to do. Something being the nord?" She signed.

"Not yet, but I'm working on that." He said with a smirk. "Nah, seems like there's an organisation of thieves around here. I helped 'em out with a little... Project, and now I'm looking to join 'em"

"Then I'll leave you to it. I'll be in the forests, and return in..." she signed and then counted on her fingers. "Three days time." With that she turned and left.

"Okay...? Have fun" he said, watching her leave and then making his way further into the Ratway.

 

Three days had passed- and Ice-Breath was having a blast... But he remained above ground, looking out for the elf's return.  He pulled his hood further over his face - the sun was unbearable... And he hadn't fed. He worried people may be catching on, giving him wary glances. 

But his pockets were  no longer light on coin, and he appreciated that greatly.  

He had new armor now too - thieves guild, lined with pockets, stronger, and with better enchants than what he had on before. He visited the smith, asking if he could use the smithy. He obliged, and the nord began working on a steel sword - something he had been meaning to do since Riverwood.

 

Laria had found another word wall, taking down the dragon and transcribing the text while wrapping up her hands. Her gloves had ended up destroyed and now her mottled flesh was in more pain from the badly healed burns. She headed back, dragging leather, bones and gold to Riften.

Ice-Breath was just finishing up with the sword, cooling it in water, when he noticed Laria return. It seemed her hand wraps had changed. Was she in pain? He walked over to her, opening  his palm with the shimmering healing spell, asking her if she wanted healing in silence 

Laria waved him off, unwilling to show what she interpreted as weakness. She knew it'd bite her in the ass later.

He sighed, headed back to the smithy to grab the sword he crafted, and looked it over. He then glanced at Laria, showing her the blade.

"Would you like me to make a dagger for you? Yours seem... Aged."

Laria shook her head. "Daedric daggers with enchantments. They do not break. You should put a drain health enchantment on that sword." She signed.

He nodded "that's the only type of enchant I've ever used..." He paused and narrowed his eyes "how did you- what makes you say I should -"

"What makes me say what." She signed.

"What makes you say that I should put a drain life enchant on the sword?" He asked

"Because it transfers your enemy's health to your own lifeblood. Compared to elemental enchantments it is the more tactically sound choice." She signed. Her own daggers had a fiery soul trap and a drain health.

He sighed "It's usually what I have on my weapons. I just thought you were insinuating.... That because I -" he stopped "whatever. You look a mess. Let's get you a room at the Bee and Barb. You need to sleep - I don't care if you say that you don't."

She sighed, not really seeing the point in arguing, and walked into the inn. 

It was entirely too loud, someone playing a lute underneath the different conversations threatening to give her a migraine. She bought more wine from the barkeep, paying in emeralds, and also rented a room, immediately leaving the noise.

Ice-Breath followed her up to her room. "I'll rent my own bed in a moment. I just -" He didn't know. He wanted to make sure she was okay. She seemed… Worse. He began nibbling on his knuckles again, this time to suppress the hunger that gnawed at him. 

"Have you considered feeding." She signed. "Also why are you in here."

His mouth twitched. "N-no... I mean..." Thoughts of what happened to Frodnar haunted him. He didn't want to lose control again. He effectively ended one life, and ruined two others. And for what? Just because he was hungry? 

Just because he was too much of an idiot to realize he was sick? 

He was a monster in more ways than one. 

He tried to shake the topic out of his mind. 

"I want to... Apologise... About our... 'Heart to heart' in Windhelm..." He shook his head. "Never mind. What you need right now is sleep. I'll leave you to that." And with that, he made his way back downstairs.

She shook her head, wondering if an inability to hold actual conversations sober was a nord specific trait or if she just kept finding them. She locked the door and checked the room, before sitting down in the corner behind the door to sleep. It was an issue, picking a safe spot that met her standards, but this time she actually found a decent place. She shut her eyes, not looking forward to whatever visions she'd have.

Ice-Breath ordered a bottle of mead, just one, and rented a room. He could tell that Keerava wasn't to happy with his presence in her bar, but even she knew that coin was coin... 

Once reaching his room, he took a seat on the bed and took a sip of mead, returning the cork as he decided to lay down and try for sleep.

 

She was standing in the Blades' fortress. The ritual lines were on the ground, and Martin was in full armor. Rin was at his side-- _ as was him, her friend _ \-- and she was in her own battle gear. She knew how it ended. She'd follow Rin into the gate, and they'd return with a sigil stone. The images shifted, and the building was abandoned. Corpses littered the hall, dust and cobwebs covered everything. She could see the Mythic Dawn commentaries she'd been using as coasters, she’d been yelled at for doing so by an altmer with more arrogance than the rest of his race combined. _ Act like an adult, do not use those priceless books for your bloody mugs-- _ The symbol of the Aldmeri Dominion hadn't changed, and it sat burned into the floor where the ritual had been cast.

 

She woke up. She stood up. She left the room, heading outside and into a rainy dawn, wondering how difficult time travel could really be.

The dream washed over him, vivid, but blurred. The imperial from before stood next to him, and other side, a bosmer, one he had seen in the dreams before. 

He still couldn't see the imperial's face. 

Pain trickled across his skin, almost like it did whilst out in the sun. 

The imperial grasped his hand - and he awoke. 

He got up, making his way downstairs and outdoors, spotting his elven friend standing in the rain....

Her ears twitched, an unconscious reaction as she heard him approach. 

"You have questions." She didn't phrase it as a question. For someone with so many questions, she didn't seem to ask many.

He sighed. "No, I don't. .... But I might have answers, if you wish to ask the questions."

"How much do you see. When you stand with the imperial. You're in a room, correct? Who do you see?" Her throat closes, voice catching on the words 'imperial' and 'see'.

He paused before speaking, trying to land on what to say... But only the truth would be helpful to her..."I see... A Wood Elf, next to the imperial. I know there are others... But they're behind me.  We are in a room... It looks... Akaviri. I didn't... I didn't look behind me. I was... Too worried about the imperial. All my attention was on him."

"What was he wearing." She needed to know. It didn't matter but she needed to know, needed someone else to see Martin and tell her.

"...Armor. Golden armor. It seemed... Strange on him. Beautiful, but strange.... Like it encased a man of flames... Where in his usual garb, it seemed suppressed..."

She sighed. The battle for Bruma. The one she'd seen. She knew where she'd been standing, where Saval had stood, and the fear that hung on everyone, a crushing weight of 'if we fail innocents will die' on everyone's shoulders.  _ His armor did encase a man of flames, in the end. _

"Who is the emperor." She asked. She needed to know, put a name to the position.

"As in, right now? Titus Mede II..." He said. "How long were you in that crypt?"

"I don't have exact dates. Ocato was leading the Imperial Council, looking for a rightful heir." She said before drinking her wine.

".... That would be around 200 years, Laria.... " he said.

She sighed. "So it's been 200 years. Do the nords have libraries or are they more concerned with being the toughest, strongest warriors." She signed.

He furrowed his brow "What's a 'library?'"

She put her face in her hands. "A building full of books!" She said loudly.

"Uh... Maybe the college up north has one? Why... Why would you need that, though?"

"History! Local and regional history!" She said, then made a physical effort to not keep shouting. "Folklore and hearsay will only get one so far. I require documents and multiple accounts. I have lost 200 years, I need to put the pieces together." She said more calmly.

"O-oh..." Ice-Breath replied,"Uh... We could... Visit the college then? If you wanted. I'm sure they could help you out."

She nodded. "And the Blades woman?" She signed.

"I... Don't know anything about her. I suppose that was her goal..." He replied "perhaps we should meet her, as she suggested..."

She nodded sharply. "That was my intention." She signed.

"Alright then, Riverwood it is. I'll pay for a carriage ride to Whiterun, if you'd like. We can go from there."

Laria nodded. A more efficient travel would counteract the time already wasted in two different holds.

 

They arrived in Riverwood in the evening, as the sun was about to set. Delphine stood outside the inn, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. 

"I hope the trip here wasn't too uncomfortable, given your 'light sensitivity.'" 

Ice-Breath scoffed, "well, we're finally here. Have you figured out a plan yet?"

"Yes. We need answers, and right now the Thalmor hold the means to get them. Which means we need to smuggle you two into the thalmor embassy. So? You up for a little espionage?" Delphine explained. Laria snorted. 

"Let’s go." She signed. She knew how to blend in with anyone, and while her appearance would be an issue, as soon as she was away from the crowds she'd be ready to vanish.

"You'll need to talk to Malborn. He's a friend of mine, Wood Elf, he'll help you smuggle gear into the embassy. He'll be in the Winking Skeever, in Solitude. Once you do that, I'll meet you by the Solitude Stables." Delphine said. 

Ice-Breath smirked. Who knows what kind of valuables the Thalmor might be holding onto. "Well, what're we waiting for? To Solitude it is!"


	9. Chapter 9

Solitude was in the middle of a public execution when they arrived. Laria didn't pay much attention, deciding that finding their target was more important.

High King Torygg. 

Dead.  

Ice-Breath's mind found itself having trouble wrapping itself around such a concept. He cursed Ulfric under his breath. Damn traitor had no honor.  

It was a distraction. They had more important things to do. He followed the elf

Laria paused, finding the only wood elf in the tavern and walking towards him. She knocked on his table and greeted him in the only bosmer dialect she knew, her greeting almost 300 years out of date. 

"You're seriously who she sent? Okay fine. We can make this work. So I can sneak your gear into the embassy." Malborn said quickly, glancing around.

Ice-Breath winced, realising that the only armor he had was what he was wearing. 

Well, he guessed there was only one option. 

He stripped, handing his gear to the wood elf while in nothing but a loin cloth.

Laria stared at him before looking away quickly. She handed him her bow, arrows and one dagger, hiding the other on her person. 

"That's... one method I guess." Malborn said. "Okay. I'll get these inside, you go talk to Delphine." He stood up, pointedly avoiding the nord.

Ice-Breath stretched and yawned, clearly not ashamed in the slightest. He began to leave the inn.

Laria pushed past him, heading by where a headless corpse now lay and out the gates.

When they arrived at Katla's farm, Delphine winced at the sight of the naked nord. Ice-Breath was glad it was evening. If it were otherwise, he'd be in a lot of pain.

Laria folded her arms as Delphine handed them both bundles. 

"You want to blend in, you need to look the part. And it is absolutely not like that." Delphine said. Laria held up the finery she was given and made a face. 

"No."

"You need to wear it. You have to blend--"

"Absolutely not."

"Then you tell me what you're going to wear because armor isn't going to cut it--" Laria walked into the mill, casting a transmutation spell. She grinned and pulled the shifted garb on, coming back out and looking immensely proud of herself. 

"Fine." Delphine snapped.

Ice-Breath looked the garment over, then back at the breton. "If this isn't a party I can be naked at, I don't think it's a party I want to go to- Shor's Bones! Laria, how did you do that?" He exclaimed in response to her change of attire. Or rather, they way in which it changed.

Laria didn't respond, one eyebrow raised. After a moment she signed, "alteration magic" and re-hid her dagger, sliding it into a hidden pocket on her chest.

Ice-Breath (reluctantly) put on the party clothes. He looked down at his outfit and grumbled. His large frame did not complement such fanciful garb. 

"I look ridiculous." He said, concluding that the breton had no fashion sense.

Laria began snorting, finding it hilarious. Delphine gave them both an exasperated look of 'You're really the divines' chosen?' Before pointing to the carriage

Ice-Breath got in the carriage, and suddenly anxiety boiled within him. He turned to Laria and whispered, "I think the ambassador was at Helgen. You know, when I was about to be executed? If she recognises me, we're doomed. M-maybe I look different enough now that..." He sighed, breaking off the sentence.

She shrugged. "The more people there are the easier it will be. If she recognises us so be it, I have a knife and you have spells." She signed.

He raised an eyebrow "The one spell I know how to properly use is the one that comes with all vampires. We'll have to find a distraction quickly, so I can get my swords and actually be of some use."

She nodded, smiling grimly. "I have done this before." She signed without adding any context.

"Okay you can't just say that you've done this before without explaining how you've done this before" Ice-Breath said, slightly irritated.

"Morrowind, fuck knows when. Hired to remove a target without the Morag Tong's oversight. A large gathering, I poisoned the woman's drink and when that didn't take I stabbed her in the ribs in a crowd and left." She signed. "High Rock, killed a pair of brothers at their own going-away party. Truly a twist of irony. Ended up posing as a servant and lacing their food with poison." She shrugged. "Another time I had to kill some imperial while they were giving a speech. Ended up shooting him from an upstairs window and escaping along the rooftops."

"By Molag's Ballsack.... " Ice-Breath murmured, wanting to be surprised but not actually being as such. He sighed "I guess you're a veteran. I'm a warrior and a thief, espionage is not something I've ever done before. But I should probably learn."

She blew a raspberry. "Stay close and don't touch anything." She signed. "Not until we're out of sight."

"... Honestly now I'm going to touch EVERYTHING" he said

"You want to put plates in your pockets go ahead. I'm not sticking around for it." She signed. If he was anything like other nords-- which she'd had no reason to doubt up till now-- he'd be trying to smuggle plates and flatware out because she'd said no.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do" he said, "And other things too. Who knows what those fancy pants elves haves holed up in there"

She rolled her eyes, and jumped off the cart as it stopped outside the embassy. It had begun snowing and hopefully would pick up into a full blizzard. Reduced visibility and guests staying indoors would make her job easier.

"Your invitation, please." An elven man dressed in hooded black robes said as the two approached, his pointed golden nose turned up at the guests. 

Ice-Breath scrambled to find his in the pocket of his party clothes, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and hanging it to the man.

Laria handed him her own, kept clean in her breast pocket. He jerked his head towards the front door and they walked through. The interior was warm, brightly lit and someone was playing soft music. A tall altmer woman approached them, somehow looking more haughty than a normal high elf. 

"I am Elenwen, ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion. Who are you two?" She asked, taking in everything she could about their appearances. 

"Laria Seldas." She said, giving a slight bow.

"Uh... Ice-Breath. Just Ice-Breath." He said, following Laria's example and bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, miss Elenwen."

Elenwen began to say something else, but someone at the bar called her away. Laria made a beeline into the main hall, taking in as much of her surroundings as possible. It was relatively bare, most guests standing in groups talking while guards stood watch. Malborn was at the bar pouring drinks furiously.

"Why are altmer men so damn hot..." Ice-Breath said, looking around longingly at the guards, then at the rest of the area. Platters were set out with troves of food - which, a few weeks ago, he would have been shovelling into his bag for later. But now they almost seemed repulsive.

Laria faced the wall as she tried to put an entire sweet roll in her mouth. "I've been told confidence is attractive. That or they're bright yellow." She signed.

Ice-Breath had already walked over to one of the guards, leaning against the wall, trying out an awful pick up line. 

"We're not supposed to speak with the guests." The guard said with a slight glare. The nord rolled his eyes and made his way back over to Laria. 

"Damn elves..."

She raised an eyebrow. 

"Try less penis in your flirtation maybe you'll get farther." She said and then pointed at another elf in hooded robes. "He's not on duty." She told him.

"Honey, flirting is  _ all _ about the penis." He said, but glanced where she was pointing. "Damn that's.... Yeah, I'll be back in a moment." He said, making his way over to the Justiciar. This time he didn't use a horrid pick up line though. 

Laria fought back snickers as she headed for Malborn, who looked less than enthused about their antics. 

"Are you ready yet? We only have a limited amount of time so if you're done mingling you'll need a distraction." She nodded and took his cider.

Ice-Breath bounded over to Laria. 

"Guessss who has a certain elf's contact information" he said with a smirk. He noticed Malborn's less than impressed expression and winced "Er, sorry... We need a distraction, right? Do you want me to strip? As I said before, it's not a real party unless-"

Laria downed the whole bottle of cider in one go.

"Laria what--" He noticed he was getting loud, and began to whisper "You need to share your plans with me before you start drowning yourself in drink when we're...”

"We leave. Stripping does not help that. Talk to the drunkard, ask to make a mess." She said quietly.

"Looks like the only drunkard here is you" he said, but turned to Malborn. In a fake sort of tone, he asked "I'd like a drink. What do you recommend?" 

"Here you go, sir! The finest Colovian Brandy!"  The wood elf said, equally fake, and handed him a bottle. 

The nord turned towards the redguard on the bench. 

"Hey buddy" he whispered "heard they weren't letting you drink. I got this for ya." 

"See, at least someone around here is reasonable. If there's anything I can do for you, just say the word!" 

"Well.... You could create a scene." 

The drunkard chuckled, "Is that all? Stand back and admire my handiwork." He got up and began grabbing the attention of the other party goers, rambling about Elenwen's sexual habits and other such things.

Laria made a beeline for the open door as soon as the man started ranting, snatching another bottle of wine on the way. Malborn led them through the kitchen and showed them where their gear was stashed. Laria dropped low, hanging her quiver and dagger from her belt and beginning to scout out the forward rooms.

Ice-Breath darted after her. He quickly got into his gear and dropped to a sneak. "What's the plan, then?"

"Figure out how many are in here. Either kill them or incapacitate them. Take as many documents as possible. Though you may want to pick up as much as you can carry any way, thief."

He stuck out his tongue, "Whatever you say, crypt lady" he grabbed his bow from his back and crept off in the opposite direction she was headed. Faintly one could hear him, "Whoa, is this pure gold!? Damn these elves gotta share some of their wealth with the rest of us." from the other room

Laria rolled her eyes and headed for where two Thalmor were talking. She shot one in the throat and stabbed the other in rapid succession before grabbing the books laying around. She also took the apples.

The nord snuck upstairs, his attention now more on what valuables he could find than any documents.  He heard footsteps from behind him and swung around, shooting an arrow into the chest of a guard. The elf tumbled to the ground. The nord sighed and began shoving anything that looked like it would be worth anything into his bag.

Laria glanced over the books, mostly accounts of the Great War and nordic ballads, though the Dragon Break and the history of the Blades held a bit more interest. She stabbed a guard without looking up from the book.

Ice-Breath made his way outside, only to find that there was a large number of soldiers and wizards that he couldn't avoid. He stood up and readied his sword, realising too late that the loop on his belt that had been holding the other one had broken, likely while in Malborn's possession, leaving him with only one sword. He sighed, guessing he'd just go with the one spell he knew.

Laria wandered outside, still nose deep in a book, though this one was about the Bear of Markarth. "Why are there no tomes on post-Crisis reconstruction?" She asked Ice-Breath, only glancing up to slice open a man's throat and dart away from a woman with an axe.

Ice-Breath cast the drain spell on one of the soldiers while running a wizard through with his sword. He thought he heard a clamor from inside, where he left Laria, and noticed her outside.  
Laria put the book away and vaulted the low wall, drawing her other dagger and putting both blades into a wizard's face. She bounced up from that, carrying herself forward and putting her daggers in two soldiers' throats.

"...You really have to start leaving some for me" the nord said as he looked around at the dead Thalmor that littered the snow. "Did you find anything in those books of any use?"

"Delphine wasn't lying about the Blades. Where are the accounts of the years directly following the Oblivion Crisis?"

"I... Honestly had no idea what the Blades were until I met Delphine.." He said "I wonder if... Someone purposely got rid of the information about them? I know the Thalmor took credit for closing the gates on the Summerset Isles. So perhaps people just take that as fact? Regardless, something about that makes me really mad."

"Most likely. They've been eradicated, slaughtered during the Great War. It would stand to reason that the Thalmor did their utmost to remove all traces of their history." She signed.

"Just because they served the Septims? I was under the impression that under the Septim dynasty, the empire flourished." He said, sheathing his sword "and I guess that's one reason they wouldn't have liked them but... " He sighed "What makes you so curious about the Blades all of a sudden?"

"History." Laria said. "As there is nothing on Cyrodiilic politics I'm doing the next best thing."

Ice-Breath tugged at the hood over his face and glanced up at the bright blue sky "Sorry I can't be more help. History is not something I know a lot about... Can we get back inside?" 

Laria pushed open the door to the Solarium, and was exactly three steps inside before she heard someone coming up the stairs. She grabbed the nord and dragged him behind a counter, dropping low to the ground and listening.

He pushed her away, irritated, and peered around the corner of the counter. 

"I got you the information! Now I need my pay!" A man, a human, said. 

"Do not presume. We have contacts less... Troublesome, than you." A Thalmor wizard replied, sneering at the informant.

Laria fished through more books, picking up a set on Potema and the forsworn hero Red Eagle. When the informant left and the wizard had gone back downstairs she headed up, intent on finding Elenwen's personal logs.

Ice-Breath, meanwhile, was picking the lock of a display case with some jewelry inside.  Should he be looking for information? Probably. Was he going to? Not until the valuables were in his bag, he wasn't.

Laria put every document with words on it into her bag to look over later. She grabbed an unusual gem in a gold case from the ambassador's desk and began working her way back downstairs.

It looked like Laria had the upstairs covered, so Ice-Breath finished up grabbing anything remotely valuable and made his way downstairs another flight. He was about to open the door when he heard the loud voice of an altmer, and the pained voice of a human.... 

"Laria!" He hissed "I think we have... I think there might be a uh... Torture room...."

Laria dropped down from the upper floor, heading through the door and observing the wizard heading an interrogation. "Why do they always pick physical torture. Don't these clowns know their targets will say whatever they think they want to hear? Psychological interrogation yields more accurate--" she signed and then cut herself off by dropping her hands.

Ice-Breath raised an eyebrow "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" But shook his head. Again, as much as he wanted to be surprised, he wasn't. 

He rolled his shoulders back and readied his sword. The elven torturer turned around and cast an alteration spell on his armor as the nord rushed forward, but it was for naught, as he fell in a pool of his own blood anyway. 

Ice-Breath ran into the chamber and undid the shackles of the victim. "Get out of here. Quickly."

Laria took the books and notes from the wizard's desk and chest, turning as Malborn is forced into the room by two elven soldiers calling for their surrender. She shot one with an arrow before she could kill the bosmer.

Ice-Breath turned and darted up the steps, battling with the other Thalmor soldier until he too perished. 

"Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for my entire life!  I hope it was worth it." Malborn whined.

The nord rolled his eyes "Suck it up, milkdrinker." He turned down to Laria "Did you find what we were looking for?"

Laria nodded, not actually giving any clarification as she unlocked the trapdoor next to a corpse and jumped down into the pit, bow out.

Ice-Breath sighed and followed, waving at Malborn to do the same. 

While inside the cavern, however, he heard grunting, and grabbed Laria by the collar of her armor. "Troll" he whispered.

She shook him off and notched an arrow, aiming for the unmissable white mass of frost troll. She shot the thing in one of its eyes.

Ice-Breath took out his bow as well, and whispered to Laria "We could just... let the troll kill him? He seems to be... somewhat troublesome..."

Laria hissed at him, teeth bared. She put another arrow into the troll. "If you are wasting time talking then act as a distraction."

"I don't think stripping will distract the troll much." He replied, sending in arrow into the creature as well. 

"I'm getting out of here!" Malborn said as he leapt down from the ledge.

Laria sighed. "There he goes." She said as the troll attacked him.

"Told you that he wasn't worth it." Ice-Breath replied. He dropped down and took out his sword, attacking the troll using melee and dodging the creature's heavy strikes.

Laria shook her head and put another arrow in the troll, not wanting to get anywhere near it. The beasts in Cyrodiil had killed that urge years ago.

The nord planted a sword into the creature, and it fell backwards, dead.  He turned around, stumbling upon Malborn's corpse. 

"Lovely..." he murmured, picking it up and hoisting it across his shoulder.  Luckily wood elves were small.

Laria followed, jumping down lightly onto the ground and heading out of the cave.

Ice-Breath cringed as they stepped out into the shimmering sun. "...so what did you find?"

She began digging through her bag, holding up documents. "Files on Delphine and an 'Esbern'. Apparently two members of the Blades, they believed the man they were interrogating knew where Esbern was." She signed. "Something about a Ratway."

"Well, I'll need to be heading into the Ratway to sell off these hot items, so that works. Should we report to Delphine first?" She nodded, re-sorting her bag. Ice-Breath placed Malborn's body against a tree, feeling guilty, now that the deed had been done. He sighed. "To Riverwood, then." 

 

\--

 

They arrived in town in mid morning, and Ice-Breath was exhausted. When an orc in strange armor approached them, he was not at all prepared to deal with him. He hoped a tired glare would get that across. 

"We're looking for capable hunters to fight against the growing vampire menace." The orc said, "what say you?"

Laria began laughing, sharp teeth bared. "No, fuck off." She said sharply.

The orc glared, "that's what they all say, until they're getting their throat ripped out by a pack of hungry vampires. If you decide to come to your senses, we'll be in fort Dawnguard in the Rift." 

Ice-Breath clenched his teeth, and as the hunter turned to leave, he drew his sword.

Laria grabbed his arm. "You're on thin ice here. Rip him apart and they'll connect you to the child. We'll deal with this later." She hissed, teeth bared.

He growled, sending the elf a death glare, but reluctantly sheathed his weapon. "Technically it would be self defense."

"It would be a huge mess and you know it. Deal with the dragons. Once we get the information needed we can figure out what these Dawnguard hunters want." Laria told him, before walking by and towards the inn.

"It's not fair." He muttered "I didn't do anything wrong." Angrily, he shoved his hands in his pockets and following Laria into the inn.

Laria dropped the Blades files on the table in front of Delphine, letting her pick through them.

"Esbern!? He's alive!?" Delphine exclaimed as she came upon his file. "Looks like he's hiding out in Riften.... Probably the Ratway then. I'd look for Brynjolf. He's... Well connected." 

"He's a lot of other things too" the nord murmured with a smirk.

Laria rolled her eyes, not really wanting this conversation. "Riften. Brynjolf. Ratway. Esbern. Return." She said. "Will do." It felt like the few reconnaissance missions she'd done during the Crisis, when Rin had told her to get in and out of occupied forts and bring back information. She was still fairly sure that Rin had been trying to kill her.

"Sounds good." Delphine said, and went back to pouring over her papers. Ice-Breath sighed. Nobody appreciated his jokes.

 

\--

 

Laria paused inside the gates, looking to the nord. "Do you want to sell your trash." She signed. "Because I'm going into the sewers."

"I can't very well sell myself" he said "But yeah, jokes aside, that's what I'm going to do. You'll be alright?"

"If we need money, I believe prostitution is more accepted than assassination." Laria signed before adding "I will be fine." She headed past the market and down the stairs through the iron gate into the sewers

Ice-breath rolled his eyes. "Hopefully one of those books of yours will explain the concept of 'humor' one of these days," he said, and waved her off as he searched the room for Tonilia. He found her sitting at a table on the platform above the water, and pulled out the chair across from her to sit down.

Laria slid down into the ratway, feeling safer in the wet tunnels than out in the forest. There were only a few torches, which she promptly put out and removed from their sconces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all better believe im posting this and also doing rp shit at the same time  
> also, from the doc comments: 'You're really the divines' chosen?' 'Tbh isn't that the constant thought of everyone who knows them'  
> also like ten references to them being best friends which is completely true and accurate --e


	10. Solstheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to solstheim, the dusty armpit of tamriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now for something completely different

A sigh fell from Kaalenil's glossy lips into the frost stained air as he leaned against the side of the Northern Maiden, peering off at the not-so-distant settlement before him. It wasn't much of a risk, going to Windhelm. The Thalmor had no presence there, due to the Rebellion being stationed in the city. Unfortunately, it was the rebellion that was causing the elf to flee Skyrim in the first place, for if they had not made a fuss, there would be no Thalmor presence at all. 

But he had no control over what the humans decided to do. If he did, he was sure the world would be much more.... Calm, at the very least. 

As the ship docked, he gathered his bearings and stepped onto the wooden planks leading towards the town. He held up a dainty hand to his mouth, coughing as ash invaded his lungs. He inhaled angrily. He had made one step onto the island and he already has the desire to jump into the frigid cold waters below. 

The first stop would have to be an inn. He would rent a room until a living situation could be figured out. 

The tall elf scrunched his nose and twisted his top lip as he read the sign. "The Retching Netch." Such a place sounded repulsive. Why in the entirety of Mundas would anybody find the desire to name an inn such a horrid name. 

But, it was the only one in town, it seemed, so he sighed once again and made his way inside. 

Dunmer architecture. Hideous. The orange lamps were a nice, natural touch, but that was the most he could say for the place, appearance wise. He made his way downstairs and gracefully took a seat at the bar. 

"I would like to rent a room." He told the innkeep, his voice dripping with poise, a strong altmer accent apparent.

Meren was asleep outside his house again. He was also covered in ash. It wasn't entirely surprising, he'd ended up blackout drunk about six hours prior so the fact that he'd made it almost inside was a miracle. He got up, staggered a few steps, and stepped inside his house long enough to grab the bag of things he'd been meaning to sell for a week before heading back into town.

The innkeep rented the taller elf a room, and Kaalenil got up, placing his things in a chest in said room before heading up, opening the door to a face full of dust. He clenched his lithe fingers and forced himself outdoors, anyway. He was in need of some potions, food, other supplies.

Meren hated being in public. It was terrifying, eyes from all directions on him. He handed weapons and armor over to Glover and poisons to the alchemist. The trash he picked up went to the general goods dealer, as did the few necklaces he'd found. He looked around, hoping Teldryn had returned but couldn't see him anywhere. He did, however, see another altmer.

Kaalenil spotted another golden skinned elf among those of grey, but simply stared him down with his judgmental blue eyes. Now what was this.... Certainly not something he expected to see today. 

He looked over the other altmer, trying to gauge what he was wearing, how his frame was built, and so on...

Meren felt the eyes on him and stared at the other elf, well aware of how he seemed like prey. This shouldn't happen, he shouldn't be out here-- he headed away, towards the gate where Teldryn should be coming through soon.

Kaalenil was dressed in a long, black cloak, adorned with golden, elvish trim and metal pauldrons of the same color, sculpted to look like feathers. Over his tunic and slim pants, he wore long black gloves that reached past his elbows, the same design as the trim of the cape dancing across them, and boots reaching his calves, same design as the others. Typically, he would have added long heels to the design, but in his current situation, such things would not be practical, in case he needed to make a run for it.

Meren saw Teldryn walking back and realized how awful he looked. Ill fitting iron armor aside, it was obvious he hadn't been sleeping well and he was pretty sure he had mats in his hair again. Teldryn would probably make him cut the knots out again.

Kaalenil strode over to the other altmer, and stopped as he looked him over, hip popped, arms crossed, sharp brows furrowed. "Dibella preserve us..." He muttered, taking a lock of the other elf's matted hair between two fingers, holding it up as if it were diseased and looking it over, mouth in a disgusted sneer. "Have you heard of these wonderful tools called 'hair brushes?' They're all the rage this era. And the last one. And the one before that."

Meren froze for a split second before running, diving behind Teldryn as he entered the town. 

"What the fuck." Was the only thing the dunmer said.

Kaalenil put his hand on his hips and pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow, looking the couple over, his bright blue eyes flickering with judgement, discerning all that needed fixing.... 

And, quite frankly, what needed fixing was literally everything about his fellow altmer.

"Okay so what do you want?" Teldryn asked, ignoring Meren holding onto his head with his long arms.

"I want your friend here to learn about the wonderful world of bathing." Kaalenil replied, waving his hand on his wrist.

"We live in three feet of dust." Meren said quietly, doing his best to hide completely behind Teldryn.

The taller elf's eyes rolled aggressively back, and he sighed, frustrated. "As if that's an excuse for your unbelievable lack of.... Anything related to hygiene or way of dress."

Meren moved so he could glance between Teldryn and the other altmer with something like incredulity.

"You slept outside again didn't you." Teldryn said quietly, rolling his eyes when Meren nodded.

Kaalenil sighed again. "Are you the one in charge of taking care of this mess?" He asked the dunmer, gesturing to the other elf hiding behind him. "If that is the case, I implore you to a better job. A much better job."

Teldryn glared at him, immediately defensive. "And why do you care again?" He asked. Meren began digging through his bag, finding his skooma and downing it.

He pressed his thin fingers into his temple "because this mess of a mer looks awful, and I need to fix it."

Meren found a bottle of beer and drank it. 

"Yeah that doesn't give me a reason why." Teldryn said.

"I wouldn't expect a dunmer to understand" Kaalenil furrowed his brow as he watched the other altmer drown himself in various substances.

"You just let him do that?" He asked the dark elf before muttering "repulsive."

"He's an adult, fucking high elf." Teldryn snapped, letting Meren put the dunmer's arm around his shoulders.

"Ugh, I don't understand why you're getting so riled up about this." He said with a flip of his cape, and walked closer, grabbing the other high elf by the wrist. "Come. I have an extra hairbrush, I'm going to fix the situation."

Meren planted his feet, holding onto Teldryn's shoulders. 

"I don't think he's going to stop. Just go with it, I'll be right behind you." Teldryn muttered.

Kaalenil glared at his fellow altmer. "I can't work with you like this. Come. I have a room at the Retching Netch." He sighed again. What a horribly awful name. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over that.

Meren drank a jug of sujamma on the way, staring at Teldryn in fear.

Once in the Retching Netch, Kaalenil made his way to his room and opened up a large case, in which countless beauty products and tools were held. He pulled out a large brush, looked over, sighed, and grabbed a thick comb instead. This was a job that requires stronger instruments. He pulled a chair out from next to the wall, and pointed to it. "Sit."

Meren stood in the doorway, leaning back against Teldryn. 

"I don't have money." Meren said quietly.

Kaalenil rolled his eyes "Oh please, money is the least of my concerns at the moment. Come. Sit. Now."

Meren sat, curling up on himself and chugging another bottle frantically.

With lithe, gentle fingers, the taller elf plucked the bottle from the other's hands and set it on the table next to him. "Please, do yourself a favor and try sobriety. It really does wonders for one's skin." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but the message was genuine. 

He began splitting the hair into sections - or trying to at least, separating them with wooden placeholder clips. He sighed. 

"I  _ suppose _ it would be rather rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Kaalenil." He figured it would be safe to give his real name in such a... Desolate place. "Please..." He face twisted with disgust "tell me about yourself."

Meren wanted to respond with a long yell, though that felt more like something the  _ other one _ would do. 

"I'm. Meren. I'm um." He stopped, staring forward.

Kaalenil sighed, still fiddling with the other elf's hair, trying to get it so that it could be even remotely workable. "Hun, once you start a sentence, you have to finish it. So you are Meren, that information was expressed successfully. What were you saying after that?"

"I'm Meren. I'm from. Um. The-- the heartland-- Cyrodiil?  From the, uh, Anvil." Meren said, wincing as his hair was pulled and tugged.

"Ah, Cyrodiil. A beautiful province. Anvil has the chapel of Dibella - I frequented the place when I could. I lived in Kvatch until it was destroyed... " he almost spoke another phrase or so, but the memory of the night was painful, and he didn't want to practice the act of starting a sentence without finishing. When he was satisfied with the set up, he took the comb and ran it gently across the smaller elf's locks. It took short, strong strokes to get the job done, but he tried to make it as painless as he could. 

It was... Nice, getting to work with long hair again, even if it was a disgusting clump of rubbish. He had to keep his short, for he knew that those who may be looking for him would expect him to grow his hair out again. And they would be right, it pained him that his flowing long hair was gone and would not be allowed to return... But if the chance ever arose where he would be able to grow his hair out again, he would take it in a heartbeat. He would kill for such a chance.

Meren hissed, instinctively bristling at the pulling. He could see Teldryn move in the doorway, and realized the dunmer thought he was feeling threatened. Nothing good came from that, and Meren forced himself to stop making sounds.

Kaalenil raised an eyebrow at Meren's outburst, but continued, not really surprised that that would be his reaction. He glanced up at the dunmer, who seemed on edge, and he sighed as he continued to comb. "I suppose I should ask for your introduction as well."

"Teldryn Sero. I'm not for hire." He said.

"Sound like a prostitute when you say it like that." Meren muttered. 

"Sellsword." The dunmer clarified quickly. Meren grabbed another bottle. 

“I was about to say the same thing. Context can take you a long way, Hun." As Meren took another bottle, Kaalenil rolled his eyes and plucked it from his grasp. "If you're going to drink, you have to eat first. Alcohol cannot sustain you, and it's apparent that you..." He glanced him over once again, "do not have the best diet."

Meren reached for the bottle.

"Look if you're going to harass and touch him give him the bottle. Unless you want him to have a panic attack, because if that happens I will hurt you." Teldryn threatened.

Kaalenil rolled his eyes. "I am not 'harassing' Meren. I am helping him. But in order to avoid any violent outbursts from a certain barbarian" he glared at Teldryn "I will return his drink." He allowed Meren to take the bottle back and scoffed, going back to combing the man's hair, sending a look of death to the dunmer through his intense blue eyes.

Teldryn glared right back with his red. Meren glanced between the two, finishing the bottle and chewing on it.

He raised a sharp eyebrow, but held his questions about the other altmer's actions.  "You said you're from Anvil. What brings you to this -... To Solstheim, then?"

"A lot?" Meren said uncomfortably. "Why are you here?"

Kaalenil sighed "I suppose my answer could be the same as yours. If you don't want to share, that's only fair. I'm not sure I want to either. Forget I asked." 

The mats had been dealt with, so he parted the man's hair down the middle and moved on to the brush, something more gentle. Meren squirmed, not particularly happy about having a stranger still touching his head.

"Wow you don't look like shit." Teldryn said, earning a glare from Meren.

Kaalenil fluffed Meren's hair before standing back, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork with a relieved sigh. 

"I am finished. Thank you for your... Cooperation.... Now, about your outfit..."

Meren looked thoroughly miserable as he stared at Teldryn, who was trying not to laugh.

Kaalenil walked in a circle around Meren, like a wildcat examining something unusual, then grabbed the man by the chin gently. "Honey, you're so pale... I have just the foundation for that...." He sighed, backing up "ah, never mind," he said, a part of him noticing the uncomfortable aura streaming from the other high elf.  "You've already exhausted all of my energy in my attempt to deal with your hair." He flicked his hand "shoo, shoo! I will deal with the rest of you tomorrow."

Meren left as quickly as possible, buying eight more bottles of wine and five jars of sujamma as Teldryn trailed behind him. 

"That was. Something." The dunmer muttered. 

"The uh, Saering's Watch." Meren said quietly. 

"I am not chasing dragons." Teldryn told him.

"South then." Meren told him firmly. Teldryn almost laughed. 

"Your decision is to skip town?" He asked. Meren nodded. "Okay."

 

Kaalenil sighed, walking out of his room and sitting down at the bar. 

"A bottle of Tamika's, if you please," and Sadri nodded, reaching beneath the counter and handing the high elf a bottle and a cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the doc comments:  
> 'first few paragraphs: poised, elegant descriptions of fancy veg man  
> my fucking intro: YO MEREN'S SLEEPING IN ASH DRIFTS AGAIN THIS IS NORMAL'  
> eight different variations of 'don't be racist, kale' --e


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up on 'kaalenil's fucking rude to everyone', he throws a tantrum in a dwemer ruin and is promptly shot

The day broke, but Kaalenil couldn't quite tell the difference. Everything was just... Ash. He got himself ready, putting on something new today, brushing his hair back, putting makeup on the places that needed it, then made his way outdoors, coughing as dust assaulted his lungs. He spotted the alchemist and decided to make his way over, stock up on supplies. A health potion or two, one to restore magicka, some poisons -- He then stopped by the smith, a "Glover Mallory," it seemed. A breton. He hadn't expected that. He purchased some arrows - the man seemed to want to make small talk but Kaalenil was not sure he could do so with a man with a moustache such as the one he had. You'd think with all the blades he had around he could afford to use one to shave his facial hair adequately. 

Speaking of hair.... Where was the mess and the mercenary? He still had work to do.

Meren decided to run for one of the dwarven ruins in the middle of the island, making Teldryn follow with the bit of food he'd managed to grab from the house. Teldryn didn't even bother trying to convince Meren to not go in, he'd end up being left behind again.

Kaalenil sighed, asking the smith "Have you seen Meren and Teldryn?  The strange one of my kind, and the dunmer mercenary."

"I overheard 'em talking. Said they were heading to a Dwemer ruin up north." Glover responded, and if Kaalenil's deep red hair could have stood straight up, it would have.

"A Dwemer ruin!? He will mess up his hair again! That ungrateful little-" his muscles were tense, his teeth were clenched, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. "I suppose I will just have to find him and put it up for him. " he took out the map of Solstheim he had purchased from the general trader the day before and located the closest Dwemer ruin, then retrieved his bow from Retching Netch, and headed off to fix the situation.

 

\--

 

Meren checked his surroundings before throwing wild fireballs at a centurion. The atronach Teldryn had summoned exploded and Meren switched to a lightning bolt, shorting out its systems and letting Teldryn take it down. 

"So if we had an argument would you skip town?" Teldryn asked. 

"Already happened and you know it." Meren told him.

Out of breath, a certain high elf caught up with them, his light footsteps echoing in the hollow halls. He slowed down and made his way over to the two. "You inbred-" he said, walking behind Meren and grabbing his hair, tying it up with a ribbon. "If you go into combat with your hair down it will tangle again!" He huffed. Once done that, he flicked open a pocket mirror from his bag and looked to see any blemishes in his makeup.

Meren screamed at the contact and swung backwards with his shield.

Kaalenil dodged the swing, and raised his eyebrow. "So uncivilised." He muttered, and grabbed a small container of eyeliner from his bag, looking in the mirror and touching up the wings.

The centurion they'd lost sight of earlier showed back up and Meren and Teldryn attacked it.

Meren kept his shield up, moving to block its sword arm and Teldryn stabbed it in a leg joint.

Without missing a beat, Kaalenil prepared a fireball spell with both hands, gracefully casting it at the automation.  That would give him time enough to grab his bow. He nocked an arrow and aimed towards a joint near the neck of the creature.

Meren hit the thing with another lightning bolt, panicking as the centurion swiped at Teldryn. He wasn't as worried when the centurion hit him in the chest and sent him crashing into the ground eight feet away.

Seeing that the two had been thrown to the side, Kaalenil clenched his teeth and readied another arrow, sending it flying into the construct's chest between the plates, lodging in the dynamo core. The centurion screeched to a stop and tumbled forward.  As it fell, he darted over to Meren, who seemed to have gotten the most of the damage, and cast a restoration spell on him.

Teldryn grabbed Meren's arm, checking to see if he was lucid. He pressed a heal undead spell into the vampire's arm, hoping it would seem more like an extra boost of healing instead of a spell that would actually have an effect. Meren was breathing hard, rattling in his lungs loud and obvious as he fought to stand up. His iron chest plate was dented again. 

"Meren hold still I think you crushed your lungs again." Teldryn said casually, working another spell in.

Kaalenil stood back up as Teldryn entered the scene, and scoffed. "Iron. Useless. You need glass, or ebony... And to reevaluate your combat structure. Fighting such a monstrosity head-on is likely the worst thing you could do."

"I've done worse." Meren muttered as Teldryn hit him with another healing spell. "Killed a frost giant five times the size of me."

"We almost died that time too." Teldryn told him sternly.

Kaalenil pressed his fingers into his brow. "Please, allow me to craft you some better armor... Or...  _ something _ ... If you are going to insist on running into battle as you apparently do."

"Don't have the money for it." Meren said. That was most of why they were down in the ruin-- why he'd chosen that specific ruin at least. Dwarven artefacts sold for better prices than nordic trash, and there were normally soul gems and jewels as well.

Kaalenil rolled his eyes. "I've already told you, money has little to do with it. I can easily purchase the items needed, and then craft it for you."

"Why." Was the only thing Meren said.

"No offence, but people don't give us shit without a reason." Teldryn told him. Meren nodded, looking nervous. He stood up shakily, slowly stripping the centurion for parts.

Kaalenil sighed. "My reasoning is that you look awful and we need to fix that. But fine, if you don't want armor that both looks better and will protect you adequately, then don't take me up on my offer.  _ Fine. _ " He huffed. "I'm still following you two into the ruins though."

Meren slunk through the ruins, eyes on the vents that expelled spiders. He could hear rattling and metal tapping against stone, so every time he turned a corner he felt fear. He'd found a decent amount of jewels though, and the grand soul gem he'd found would sell well.

The taller elf followed the two, quite frankly, because he didn't trust them to not die.  Trust--

After the wandered a bit, he sighed, murmuring "What will it take for you two to trust me?"

Teldryn snorted at the altmer's question, not actually responding. He'd spent months with Meren before he'd been able to trust the sellsword so he wasn't sure Meren would be able to trust the altmer too soon.

"I can hear a ballistae." Meren said quietly.

"Fuck." Teldryn muttered, reaching for the nordic bow Meren had thrown at him the last time they had gone dungeon delving. Meren charged a chain lightning spell and looked around for the automaton.

Kaalenil prepared the fireball spell once again and scanned the area for the ballista. He too could hear the ticking of its gears before-

Thwack-

A large bolt penetrated his side, running him through.  He collapsed to his knees, blood seeping into the stone below.

Meren launched off his spell and ran for the other altmer, turning his back completely on the ballista. 

"Can you not?" Teldryn shouted before ducking behind a pillar as the ballista targeted him. He got an arrow off, embedding it deep into the thing's shell. Meren began working the pitifully small amount of healing magic he knew, trying to stop the bleeding. "Look, just take care of the fucking monstrosities, I'll deal with the healing." Teldryn ordered, and they switched places.

"I can heal myself!" Kaalenil said through gritted teeth, his blue eyes trembling, and he coughed, blood dripping over his chin as he did. "You two deal with the thing!" He called, and screamed as he tried to remove the bolt from his body.

Teldryn shot off another arrow, and the ballista exploded as Meren hit it with an ice spear. The two turned back to him. 

"You're going to pass out." Teldryn told him.

"You're going to get a fire bolt to the face if you keep-" the altmer said between yelps, but passed out before he could finish his sentence.

Teldryn rolled his eyes and pulled the bolt out more roughly than intended, pushing the strongest healing spell he knew into the man. Meren hung back, eyes on the doorways.

Kaalenil coughed and sputtered as he came to, looking around him in his puddle of blood, and then at his outfit. 

"It's ruined!"

"I can put the bolt back in you if you want." Teldryn said flatly. Meren punched him.

Kaalenil rolled his eyes and got to his feet, not without a wince.  He wiped the blood he coughed up on a handkerchief he grabbed from his bag, and folded it it neatly, tucking it back in his pocket.

Meren shot Teldryn a confused glance and then kept walking, picking up pieces of metal on the way.

Kaalenil followed. A door loomed up ahead. "Please tell me that that is the exit. I need desperately to change into clothes that aren't saturated in my own blood."

Meren nodded, pushing it open part way to look through and then closing it. "Elevator's guarded by another centurion." He said quietly.

Kaalenil groaned. "You have  _ got _ to be kidding me. How is your stealth? Perhaps we can sneak past."

Meren nodded, dropping low and sliding through the barely-open door. Teldryn groaned and followed suit, trying to keep the rattling of his weapons in check. Meren's eyes never left the centurion as they passed by carefully.

Kaalenil ducked down and followed their lead - halting suddenly as he heard scuttling around them.

Spiders. Not the large frostbitten variety, like on the mainland, but smaller, snow-white arachnids creeping towards them from sacs that clung to the ancient stone walls.

Meren clapped hands over his mouth, looking around wide-eyed at the weird spiders. Teldryn pushed him to keep moving, eyeing the back of the centurion nervously and then pointing at the elevator.

Kaalenil turned his back to the other two, keeping a lookout behind them so they could proceed forward. He would alarm them if any of the creatures or automations became hostile.

Teldryn pulled on Meren, watching him just shut down and stare at the spiders. "Fuck." He breathed and grabbed Meren, picking him up and praying to the Three that Meren wouldn't begin thinking he was being attacked.

Kaalenil's blue eyes shot towards Teldryn as he scooped Meren into his arms. Was he injured? This certainly could not be a good sign, either way... He lingered behind, letting them get far enough away that they wouldn't get hurt, and cast a large fiery explosion, depleting him of all his magicka. The spiders burned into the air, flying upwards in charred, black flakes. As the spell cast, the ruins trembled as the centurion revved into motion, and a pile of rock and rumble tumbled between the two Solstheim natives, locking them within the area near the elevator. On the other side, the outlander altmer and the centurion remained.

Meren was lucid again, though he expressed this by squirming out of Teldryn's grip and accidentally punching him in the face on his way to the floor. He was up again, heading for the rubble and trying to find a way through. He began yelling, ears flat against his head and clawing at the bits of broken rock.

Kaalenil could hear yelling on the other side- Sweet Dibella, they had better be okay, that had better.... 

No, right now his primary concern should be the hulking mass of metal that lumbered towards him. He grabbed his bag and frantically searched for a magicka potion - one of the ones he bought this morning, but they were nowhere to be found. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the bow from his back, staring down the monstrosity and darting back, keeping himself at a distance.

Teldryn grabbed Meren and dragged him onto the elevator, intending to head up and loop back around to the front of the ruin and go back through. Meren just Shouted at the rubble. 

" **FUS ROH** "

A hole ran through the rubble as a frost Atronach emerged, a hulking giant of a creature, emitting white mist into the air. It, along with the Thu'um, brought a space within the wall of rocks, and the Daedra fizzled out into nothingness as Kaalenil's energy ran dry. Behind him, an arrow-littered centurion lay dormant on the ground, and he stumbled forward towards the two, straining, but collapsed, unconscious.

Meren moved to help him but was shoved towards the elevator by Teldryn, who dragged the unconscious altmer onto the platform and began healing him as they ascended.

Kaalenil did not come to as quickly as he has before...  Or at all. Not while they were in the elevator. He winced and moaned as he was being healed, but that's about all one could get from him.

"He's dead." Meren said. 

"No he's fucking not he's breathing." Teldryn snapped.

"That's not a consistent thing to check by. Plenty of dead people breathe." 

Teldryn rolled his eyes. "Get a healing potion out would you?"

Kaalenil sputtered, still asleep, certainly not dead. Meren stared at the altmer as Teldryn poured a healing potion down his throat. Kaalenil coughed, his eyelids fluttering for a moment, and he glanced at the other two before falling back under. 

"Doubt the temple would take him in for healing, they're more about isolationist worship." Teldryn said. 

"Why doesn't the island have healers?" Meren asked. 

"Because it's a shithole." Teldryn worked another healing spell, looking for any remaining injuries.

Even in his unconscious state, he grasped his amulet of Dibella, and fell into a more relaxed sleep, as if his pain had subsided substantially.

Teldryn ended up being the one carrying the altmer, as Meren wouldn't stop moving, looking around for anyone hoping to attack them.

 

\--

 

As they reached Raven Rock, Kaalenil came to, but was too tired to really react to anything.  If he had the energy, he would have most certainly been angry, embarrassed, but he didn't care at the moment.  He just needed to heal.

Teldryn kicked open the door to their house as Meren got distracted picking the scathecraw. "Meren how much did you drink while I was gone." 

"A lot." Came the soft reply. Teldryn swore and stomped inside, taking the altmer to the spare room and dumping him on the bed before checking his pulse and then leaving again.

Kaalenil groaned and curled into himself, swearing himself off in his mind. He was trying the help these imbeciles, and ended up being more of a hindrance than anything.

"Why is he here. He's not a..." Meren trailed off, trying to pick words. 

"You're not an ashlander either Meren." Teldryn told him.

"I'm always covered in ash."

"Yeah I can fucking smell it. Go take a bath." Teldryn drank the leftover bit of wine Meren hadn't finished.

Why was he here? Of course he wasn't a dunmer. He was here because Skyrim was no longer safe. He was here because he had been a dead man walking for almost 200 years. He was running out of places to run. 

And he was running out of paths to follow. He could hear what they were saying loud and clear. He could see their confusion, their disdain, and he cursed himself for it. 

He didn't want to be looked at like that anymore.

 

"Meren I know that it's not the greatest conclusion to jump to but--" Teldryn started uncomfortably.

"I don't think he's Thalmor."

"You're a terrible judge of people."

"If he was he'd have noticed the brand." Meren said. "Didn't mention it. Is he awake yet?" Teldryn shrugged. Meren, in his ever-present sense of tact, walked into the spare room and stared down at the altmer to see if he was still out.

"Stop staring at me, you little cretin," Kaalenil murmured, hoarse, almost inaudible, his blue eyes flicking up to the other altmer for a split second before falling again and staring into the distance, no place in particular, glossy.

"Make him cry and I throw you out." Teldryn told the sleeping man.

"He's hiding scars." Meren muttered but did back away.

Kaalenil's eyes widened, and he turned, trying to subtly cover his face. No. No not now.

Not ever. 

They wouldn't know how ugly he had become. 

Meren left the room, feeling even smaller than normal and Teldryn followed, keeping an eye on him as he began wandering the house in a daze. It happened pretty often, Teldryn would move the skooma somewhere else and let him stagger around with a beer bottle until he collapsed. It wasn't like anyone had solutions to mental problems in the damn province any way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He needs to be shot again tbh   
> ~D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In whichMeren eats soap.  
> ~D  
> look when you're high and need a snack sometimes old soap is just what you need to consume -e

Kaalenil had spent his time recovering in prayer to Dibella, but nothing helped. He took some still-wet blood from his robes and smeared his face with it, like it had landed there in battle. Getting up, he decided he should probably tell his... Hosts... That he was leaving, and would be out bathing in the nearest lake or stream. He wandered and looked around for the other two, self-consciousness building.

Meren was sitting at the front door staring at the ceiling, shaky hands gripping a skooma bottle. He'd found one, probably one of the ones he kept on himself, and was quietly humming. Teldryn was in the master bedroom, if the sounds of something crashing to the ground and angry yelling were any indication.

Kaalenil sauntered over to the other high elf, looking him over with a flick of his blue eyes before muttering, with a sigh, "I apologise for calling you a cretin." Gently, softly, he took a seat next to the other.

Meren stared at the place he had just been curiously, in a state between lucid and completely not there. He finally noticed the other man sitting next to him and offered him the empty bottle.

Kaalenil winced and took it with two fingers, with as little contact as he could, as if it were diseased. He set it on the table next to him.

"I think he broke something." Meren said, referring to Teldryn as something else fell over. "He's not dead yet, so that's good." It was pleasant when he ended up in a warm blue haze, the edges of his vision were almost always dark but this time it was comforting. There was someone next to him, he wasn't too sure of their identity, and he was home. It was okay. 

"I killed a dragon once. Almost died. Killed a frost giant and almost died. I also killed another dragonborn and almost died. Except Mora was there and the sky was wrong-- or maybe that was a drug trip. No, that happened." He stopped talking, stretching his legs out along the flagstones.

Kaalenil pursed his lips, restraining the urge to say something snarky. In this state, he felt it would do nothing good for the man. He tried to run through what the other elf had said. Mora, clearly Hermaeus Mora... A wrong sky... Had he perhaps stumbled into a plane of Oblivion somehow? Dragonborn. He knew a Dragonborn once. A wonderful man. The best man he had ever met. Anger boiled in him in the moments. Another Dragonborn, the man had said, insinuating that he too, was Dragonborn. How dare he take on such  a title. There was no way Dragonborn would exist in this area, not one and certainly not more than that. 

He sighed, allowing his rage to release through his breaths. The man was intoxicated, of course he would say ridiculous things. 

"Perhaps you should try not-almost-dying instead." Kaalenil decided to say.

"Last time I did I ended up in hell. It just happens. And then I survive and keep going." Meren said, almost sadly. He reached for the wine, taking a drink and then offering it to Kaalenil.

Kaalenil raised an eyebrow. Hell... Hopefully metaphorically, he thought, before concluding that that was just as bad. He took the wine, getting up to search for a couple glasses. No way he was drinking straight from the bottle. 

"... I am going to check on your caretaker... In the case that he may be injured." He said, walking over and peering into the room Teldryn was in.

"He's not my caretaker. He's my partner." Meren said, staring at his hands in search of his missing wine. 

Teldryn was trying to sort through trash and had tripped over a chest, sending himself flying. He kept ranting in dunmeri as he cleaned up.

"Do you require assistance?" Kaalenil murmured. "And, do you have glasses somewhere? Like a kitchen perhaps?"

Teldryn stared at him, putting a worn leather boot in a bag. "Uh, there are probably tankards somewhere. You from the southern provinces? Apparently they use their silver to make goblets and shit." He found a pair of tankards and handed them to the altmer.

Kaalenil nodded with a sigh. "These will do, I suppose. I am from the southern provinces, you are correct. My youth was spent in the Summerset Isles, and I lived in the city of a Kvatch for a time before it..." He shook his head "I... Am worried about your partner. He seems to be rambling about Daedra and dragons..."

Teldryn snorted. "Yeah, you're new here okay. So apparently there's this guy Miraak who was around during the bit where dragons were ruling everything. Ended up dealing with Hermaeus Mora and showed back up a few months ago after the dragon situation on Skyrim started. Meren's apparently one of those nord heroes, absorbs dragon souls and makes a lot of noise when he yells. Took down Miraak, so he's not a complete mess." He shrugged. "Should be worried about him though, that's the first reaction most people have when they meet him."

Kaalenil scoffed "I have a difficult time believing that Dragonborn have returned. To say they have is almost... offensive. But...." he glanced through the doorway towards Meren, and rolled his eyes "I suppose I owe him  _ some _ respect, if he's taken down dragons and strange men in Oblivion."

"How the fuck is it offensive? You're not a nord." Teldryn said. Meren hadn't visibly moved but had found another bottle.

"Oh sweet Dibella, if I were a nord I wouldn't want to exist. No... I knew a man.  Dragonborn. Best man... Best man I ever met. I don't want others tainting his...." He shook his head again, strands of hair in clumps of dried blood, and he suddenly remembered that he still needed to shower and use some makeup so they couldn't see... He poured some wine into one of the tankards and took a sip, then poured it into the other, looking back at Meren.  The second tankard was intended for him but... he seemed to be doing well on his own. He handed it Teldryn. "I just thought I'd inform you both that I will be leaving shortly. Do you know of any fresh water spots where I might bathe? A stream, a lake, something of that sort..."

"We have a tub." Teldryn said. "Who's this dragonborn of yours? Because there's also another one apparently wandering around and for all Meren's issues she's shit." He took the tankard, drinking it carelessly. "Another thing, where do you expect to go? There's nothing here except ash and snow and I think werewolves down south."

"The werebears are down south the werewolves are up north in a valley. They're nice." Meren appeared at Teldryn's side, swaying a little. 

"Can you maybe not do the teleport thing?" Teldryn snapped. 

"I don't teleport you just don't pay attention." He reached for the wine.

Kaalenil scoffed. "Lovely.  I'll have to see these Dragonborn in action to believe it. I can assure you, the Dragonborn I knew is not..... still alive" He paused, then sighed in relief. "That is quite the relief.  Thinking about having to bathe out in that ash is... repulsive." His eyes glossed over " I don't know where I expect to go. I believe I may stay here for.... a time... Perhaps weeks. Perhaps years.  Perhaps I'll have to leave tomorrow. We will see. If I stay within the city lines, I'd assume the guards would deal with any... 'were' creatures before they could get to any citizens." He glanced at Meren... that was rather fast, rather silent. 

Meren shrugged, absently chewing on the wine bottle with sharp teeth. Teldryn tried not to look uncomfortable. 

"Uh, bathtub is over near the forge, keeps the water heated. Do we have soap?"

"The stuff that looks like mushrooms?" Meren asked. 

"Soap doesn't look like-- please don't eat the soap."

"I didn't. Tasted like shit." Meren muttered.

"Okay how much have you had." Teldryn asked, taking the bottle away.

"A lot. I'm going to sleep." Meren said, immediately walking to the bed and collapsing on it. Teldryn watched him go and turned back to Kaalenil. 

"Bathtub's open, I swear we have soap that hasn't been chewed on somewhere." Teldryn said.

Kaalenil's eyebrow twitched, "Oh no, it's fine. I'm going to bring my bathing supplies over from my room at the Netch. I'm not sure any soap that has been in this homestead is something I want anywhere near my body, anyway." He turned and left.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the gang fights a bear and that isn't even the worst event -e

When he returned, he was holding a large case, the one that held his makeup and hair supplies. Readying the bath, he let the steam consume him as the tub filled, and sighed in sweet relief as he entered the water. There was no door, but he submerged himself and turned such a way that only the back of his head could be seen by the others. He realized, at this point, his body consisted primarily of scar tissue. This was hyperbole of course, but it... Hurt, even so. 

They weren't even battle scars.

 

Meren dreamed of bonemen and rotting dragons, and when he tried to hide he ran for a cabin, inside was the corpse of Lachance. He woke up screaming. Teldryn was there, talking him down quietly and Meren decided to stop sleeping again. He began enchanting everything Teldryn used instead with the strongest protections he could summon.

Kaalenil had almost slipped into a sleep, until a cry of fear ran up his spine and he jumped. He turned his ear, trying to listen to what was going on. 

Nightmares. It seemed none were strangers to such things as of late. What the nightmares had been about, he didn't know,  but he decided that bath time was over. He got out, wrapped himself in a towel, and called, (as he didn't want to show his bare face,) "Do you ingrates have a mirror or do you just forget you have faces?"

"I don't need fire resistance on that I'm a dunmer." Teldryn said to Meren before turning in Kaalenil's general direction. "Yeah use a sword. Those are reflective." He dug around in the trash pile they'd eventually get around to selling and found a broken mirror. "Well this one has a crack in it so I don't know if you'd be able to suffer through using it or not."

"I'm using the chaos damage with the black soul gem on your sword." Meren said.

Kaalenil tried to hide his face the best he could, acting as if it was a show of not caring as he took the broken mirror, facing away- "You degenerates really need-" he stopped, almost turning around in alarm. "Black soul gem? As in... The type of soul gem that holds the souls of sentient creatures?"

"I found it. And then hit a reaver with it." Meren said, looking over at the other altmer.

"That's awful!" Kaalenil exclaimed "Reavers and bandits are repulsive but..."

"Where'd the scars come from? On your face." Meren asked. Teldryn grabbed his arm. 

"Stop." He said quietly. He knew Meren was genuinely curious and he also knew that no one hid scars if they were comfortable with them.

Kaalenil's eyes widened. He hadn't been careful enough. He curled into himself and... Froze... He didn't... Didn't know how to deal with-- They saw how ugly he was. He couldn't cry, as crying was ugly in and of itself. He couldn't be angry.  It wasn't-- Meren's fault. 

But now they knew. 

Now they knew he had failed.

He froze, unsure of how to act, what to say, how-

Meren pointed to the brand on his face casually. "You're not Thalmor, right?" There was fear in his words, that the man had changed his appearance because of his work as a spy. He knew spies, he knew people who could trail their targets anywhere and then strike at a perfect time. His brand made sure that any passing patrols recognised him, and while he knew rationally the man would have killed him when he was high and unresponsive, or in the cave, the anxiety and general fear kept him wondering.

The taller elf turned his back to the two, dropping his towel to reveal a back laced with ugly, bulging scars. 

"They're punishments." He murmured. 

He figured that would answer both questions Meren had asked. 

With that, he grabbed elvish armor, his own design, white with grey and black accents, and made his way behind a wall to change.

Meren looked down, slowly going back to enchanting.

"He grew up in the Isles." Teldryn muttered. 

"That makes sense then." Meren said. 

"What does?"

"Perfection is a thing there. If you don't meet the criteria you get hurt." Meren said softly.

"What the fuck is wrong with high elves?" Teldryn asked, louder than intended. Meren just shrugged.

Kaalenil sat on a chair in that dark corner of the room, hearing the conversation from the other two. He buries his face in his long, dainty hands, and just... Sat there. Still. Breathing slowly.

Meren began enchanting one of the glass daggers he'd picked up and used the grand soul gem on it. He held it, checking it for a moment and headed for where Kaalenil had vanished, intent on giving it to him.

Kaalenil looked up, expression blank as Meren walked towards him. 

"What do you want?" He murmured.

Meren offered the dagger to him. "It's uh, it's. Gift. For you." He didn't immediately leave, wanting to say something else.

Kaalenil took the dagger in his hands, flipping it over as he inspected it. Beautiful craftsmanship and the enchant seemed potent... He wasn't a melee fighter but it could help in a pinch. 

And he really was grateful. 

What he wasn't, however, was able to express that gratitude adequately. 

He sighed. "The handiwork is acceptable. Thank you."

Meren shrugged. "Okay." He looked around. "You're, uh. I can't talk great. That's uh that's obvious. So. Sorry. For the--" he gestured at his own face trying to get the concept across.

Kaalenil glared at him. "If I were Thalmor, you'd already be dead." He didn't know what this man did, but he knew based on the question alone that the Thalmor were after him too.

Meren sighed. "I don't think that's what would have happened but okay." He shrugged. "You can stick around here. Long as Teldryn doesn't get mad at you I guess." He turned and left, shoulders hunched.

Kaalenil perked up a little. "You're not joking with me now, are you?" Having a place to stay would be-- Wonderful. 

"Long as Teldryn doesn't get mad at you. And you don't touch me any more." Meren clarified.

Kaalenil stopped stock still. When he put it like that--He realized how uncomfortable that could be, given that... 

He sighed, "Well then, I'm going to bring the rest of my items from the Netch."

Meren waved goodbye and went back to bed.

Kaalenil returned, bursting through the door, covered in ash, and singed on the edges, out of breath. 

He tossed the rest of his things on the nearest table and said to anybody who might be able to hear- 

"Why did nobody tell me about the fiery ash men?"

Teldryn looked up from the ash yam he was mashing on his plate. "The ash spawn? Are there any left?" He asked, more curious than concerned.

"Yes you imbecile! Of course there are! I just ran into some past the Bulwark, as is plainly apparent by not only my statement but by disheveled appearance!" Kaalenil exclaimed, not at all amused at how Teldryn seemed not to give a skeever's tail. 

Teldryn gave him a once over and then shrugged. "Well you're not injured so I'm not seeing the issue. Why'd you go past the Bulwark? The Netch is inside the walls." Teldryn said before trying to fit an entire mashed yam in his mouth.

Kaalenil looked disgusted at the eating etiquette the dunmer was displaying, but decided to let it slide. 

"I thought... I thought I saw something. And I thought I'd investigate." Was all he said.

Teldryn nodded and stood up, leaving the plate and working on swallowing his food. 

"What kind of thing? Because that changes what type of gear I'm bringing." He said. "Also Meren's asleep again so I'd have to wake him up."

"It seemed... Very large. It stood on two legs, but was hunched. That's all I could see before it darted off after something." He paused, "Sll I join you?"

"Sure. Go do whatever, I'll wake Meren up." Teldryn said. Waking the man up was always difficult, not because he slept deeply but because he slept so rarely that waking him up felt illegal. Teldryn shook his shoulder, letting him gasp and take in his surroundings before registering Teldryn's presence. 

"The weirdo saw something that seems like a werebear or a lurker, we're heading out to look." Teldryn told him. Meren nodded slowly, standing up and pulling his shoes on.

Kaalenil sighed, moving his things from the table to near his other things. He stashed potions in his bag, slung his bow and arrows on his back, and began to leave, but... He had to be forgetting something... 

His glance flew towards the glass dagger Meren had gifted him... He wasn't likely to use it, as he could pull up a bound sword if need be, but.... He took it and slung it in his belt.

Meren was awake, dragonbone shield on his arm and a relatively well fitting set of dwarven armor on his person. Teldryn pulled on his helmet, the glass lenses making the ash storms easy to not be blinded by. He gestured for Kaalenil to lead the way after checking his sword and potion supply.

Kaalenil sighed, but did as Teldryn suggested. He headed outdoors and towards the Bulwark, then ducked, pointing. "It's returned. Giant mass of fur. I fear it's too close to the town.... Whatever it is..."

Teldryn took a look at it and glanced at Meren. "That's a werebear."

"I'll go kill it." Meren said softly. 

"No, wait for the rest of us--" Teldryn started, but Meren had darted away, shield up as he charged the werebeast to lure it farther from the bulwark. "Why do I bother." Teldryn muttered. 

Meren kept up a high speed chase of getting close enough for the werebear to take a swipe at him and then moving backward to get it farther away from the town. It roared, lunging for him and he dodged it, slinging a fireball into its face on his way.

Kaalenil shot up, bow in hand, arrow already nocked. He shot at the monster's face, the arrow lodging in its eye. 

"Meren, you're an idiot!" He called as he nocked another arrow.

Meren gave a quick thumbs up before shield bashing the bear's face. Teldryn moved forward, atronach summoned and while he didn't expect the guards to come help, he was a little annoyed nonetheless. Meren turned, planting another fireball at the thing's feet and trying to ignore the flames licking up his arms.

The taller elf shot an arrow into the creature's skull, then in a swift motion, shot an ice-spike at its torso. He assumed the monster used more physical, stamina using attacks, so he'd go with something that would slow it down. 

Meren moved backward, still trying to set the beast on fire. Teldryn rushed it, burying his sword in its neck. The beast roared and swung its arm to the side, grabbing the dunmer and reaching down to bite into him.

Kaalenil swiftly shot an arrow into the creature's arm, near the joint in hopes that it would drop the dunmer.

It did, and Teldryn grabbed his sword and pulled it out of the thing's neck, jumping out of the way as Meren threw another fireball. 

"Watch where you're putting those!" He shouted. 

"It's not dead!" Meren replied. 

"Yeah and I almost died!"

Kaalenil sighed, and called from his ranged position "If you two imbeciles could stop your domestic dispute, we may actually have a chance at defeating this thing!!" He put his bow back on his back and cast an ice volley spell at the werebear.

"I don't--" Teldryn got hit by the bear and was sent flying. 

Meren screamed and ran at the werebear, put himself between Teldryn and it, and shouted " **YOL TOR** ". Fire erupted from his mouth and gave Teldryn time to get back up.

"You couldn't have started with that?" He asked, annoyed. Meren coughed up smoke and threw an ice spike at the bear.

Kaalenil stopped. "What, pray tell, was  _ that _ !?"

"A lot of fire, can you keep killing this thing?" Teldryn asked as the bear downed his atronach and it exploded. Meren coughed up more smoke and used another ice spike on the beast.

Kaalenil shook his head. Didn't matter what that shouting was. What mattered was that they kill this abomination. He shot a bolt of lightning and the creature tumbled to the ground, twitching before falling still. 

Teldryn watched it fall and then turned his focus to Meren. 

"Drink something--water not alcohol." He pressed a bottle into Meren's hands and let him drink.

Kaalenil pressed his fingers to his forehead "So you  _ do _ try and keep him somewhat healthy. You're right- he does look rather pale.... Well, paler than usual, I suppose. Speaking of which, I still need to put that foundation on y- er...." He stopped, remembering that Meren asked him not to touch him anymore "Meren, would you allow me to use that foundation on you? I believe it would do wonders for your complexion."

Meren blinked and then shook his head. He said something, but it was obscured by a loud rattling from his throat and another cloud of smoke. 

"Yeah he's gonna be useless for a bit. Your werebear's dead was that all you wanted to come out here for?" Teldryn asked.

Kaalenil almost aggressively rolled his eyes. "I still am unsure how he appeared to breathe fire. But no matter. The monster is dead and I have to get at least eight hours of sleep or the dark circles under my eyes become difficult to hide - although I'd wager they'll be as such anyway, having to deal with you two."

Teldryn flipped him off. Meren grabbed his hand and glared at him.

The altmer put his hands on his hips and scoffed. "Utterly barbaric." He muttered, making his way back to Meren's residence. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Kaalenil awoke to the sound of scratching on his bedpost. Wearily, his eyelids fluttered open and he looked down to see a large, rat-like creature below. He screamed, loudly and jumped back, shooting a fireball at the vermin that was simply just sitting there. The skeever's charred body slammed against the wall with a thump.

"Meren did you kill the skeever?" Teldryn shouted. 

"Thought you were going to." Came the reply from the forge.

"What the-- well it's fucking gone, if I have to search the house for it I'm going to--"

"I didn't want to eat it anyway." Meren sounded self-satisfied. Teldryn suspected he'd forgotten about killing it on purpose.

Kaalenil stormed into the middle of the house, blue eyes crazed and red hair awry. "YOU PEOPLE ALLOW YOURSELVES TO LIVE WITH VERMIN!?"

Teldryn stared at him. "Meren I think he found the skeever." He said. 

"Dead?" Meren appeared, covered in soot.

"Well it IS NOW!  What in OBLIVION IS WRONG WITH THE TWO OF YOU!? How have you not caught a disease or-" he shook his head, cringing. "Ugh, speaking of diseases, I was thinking...." He walked back to where he was staying and came back with two potions of cure disease. "I don't know how lycanthropy spreads, but, for safety, I'd implore you both to drink this. Who knows what would happen if you were to become one of those things..."

Meren took the vial, turning away and drinking it. Hopefully it wouldn't make him sick. 

"Cool. So can I have the rat or is it completely gone?" Teldryn asked.

Kaalenil furrowed his brow and sneered in disgust. "Why in Oblivion would you want it? It's a charred mass of flesh, but it's next to the wall near where I'm sleeping. I would say the smell should tip you off, but unfortunately it seems your stench is... Considerably worse..."

Teldryn gave him a thumbs up and went to collect the corpse. 

"He likes making soup." Meren said as an explanation, looking significantly greener as the cure disease potion began making him sick.

Kaalenil noticed the green hue and quickly placed the back of his hand on Meren's forehead, checking for a fever. He found the complete opposite - the man seemed strangely cool to the touch. "Meren, I think you may be sick... But that makes no sense, you just drank the potion I gave you..."

Teldryn walked back and immediately tried to distract Kaalenil. He decided to use the stiff corpse as a puppet and poked his shoulder with it.

Kaalenil screamed, jumping feet into the air. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!?" His golden face turned red with anger. "THAT IS DISGUSTING - and did Meren say you were going to make SOUP with it!? No. Absolutely not.  _ I _ will make dinner for you both, if you insist on eating as you do!"

"Well I hope you do something with the skeever because otherwise it's going in the potions." Teldryn told him. Meren made his grand escape by going to his room quickly and silently.

"That's a better use than in stew, gods-damned barbarians..." Kaalenil muttered, "now if you'll excuse me, I'm still in my sleepwear. " with that, he left to change. 

An hour passed and he returned, decked out in some frivolous outfit as usual.... 

He opened up barrels in the kitchens to find dust and old ash-yams that certainly shouldn't be used. He sighed, picking out two that seemed edible, and set them on the nearest surface. "Do you people even eat?" He called to whoever could hear.

"Yeah. We were going to eat the skeever." Teldryn's voice came up from the bottom level.

"I don't eat." Meren had appeared behind him and was drinking again.

Kaalenil rolled his eyes. "Well, you should eat. It'd probably help your..." He looked him over "... Frail... Figure."

Meren shrugged. "Probably. I think we have the money for cheese if you want some."

Kaalenil shook his head. "No, I did some shopping yesterday. I should have the ingredients for soup - a soup that is not made of vermin." 

He headed downstairs and came back up with a few tomatoes, leeks, garlic, and pinches of salt. Grabbing the nearest pan, he poured water inside and placed it over the fire.

Meren shrugged again and went back downstairs where Teldryn was butchering the skeever for parts.

"You doing okay?" Teldryn asked quietly. "With the potion." Meren nodded. "Next time don't drink poison, would you?" He shrugged.

Kaalenil sighed, grabbing a knife and washing it, as he didn't trust its cleanliness, and finely chopping up the garlic. He then did the same with the leeks, and put them into the pot. Next he puréed the tomatoes, and sloshed that in. Adding salt, he stood back, and was about to walk downstairs when he heard the two talking... 

Against his better (and moral) judgement, he stopped, and listened.

"So are you not talking again?" Teldryn stopped cutting the corpse. Meren nodded. "Any reason why?" He nodded and sat next to the dunmer. "You're still sick aren't you." Another nod. "Great. I get the one vampire without any self preservation."

... Vampire? 

As in, bloodsucking creatures of undeath? 

Perhaps... Perhaps he had heard them wrong. Or Teldryn had just been using metaphor... But... Meren had gotten sick after drinking the potion, hadn't he? 

Kaalenil stood stock still, unsure of what action he needed to take... Or what action he should take...

Meren looked up at the ceiling approximately where Kaalenil was, listening. 

"What, are you hungry?" Teldryn asked. He shook his head, just staring. "Why did you let him stay? You know damn well how that'll end." Meren shook his head again. "How did you survive this long? Did you just let hunters into your house and let them pull weapons before you reacted?"

"Never had a house." Came the quiet reply. 

"Of course."

Kaalenil's breath sped as he felt eyes on him... And talk of hunger... Of hunters... 

Meren was a vampire. 

Or- no! No. He couldn't make that assumption without hard proof... He clenched his fist... How would he get that hard proof? 

And should he risk living in a vampire's home, lest he became the next meal? 

Unless that was Meren's plan all along... 

Why else would they let him stay, really? As much as he played himself up, he was nothing more than mediocre at best, with little he could offer them in return, give for fixing their wardrobes... 

But that didn't seem to be something they were interested in...

Meren stopped moving, eyes forward. His mind was in Cyrodiil, running through narrow alleys and hiding from soldiers after he stole food. He killed another beggar over two coins when he was twelve, and when he woke up there was a man in black robes standing over him. Offering him a home. 

"Meren." Teldryn dragged him back to the present with a hand on his shoulder. "You with me?" He nodded. "Look I think the guy's almost done with whatever soup he's making, do you want to not shed dirt at the table or would you rather piss him off?" Meren stood up and wandered off to at least make an effort at cleaning. Teldryn rolled his eyes and went back to butchering, though it was more forceful.

Kaalenil glanced at the soup he had made, then forward into nothingness... With a quick decision, he made his way downstairs towards his possessions.

Teldryn watched him go without much thought, though Meren reappeared and watched him from a decent distance in the darker corner of the house.

Kaalenil began to gather his things, calmly, as if there was no rush. He figured that if they didn't know he was onto them... Once all packed up, he sighed, swinging his bag over his shoulder and holding the makeup case in his other hand, his bow across his back.

"Where are you going?" Meren asked from the hall, head tilted curiously. The light was making his yellow eyes seem to glow which did nothing to help anything.

Kaalenil noticed the glow in the other altmer's eyes and almost jumped. He played it off, shaking his head. "Ah, I stepped outside as the soup was simmering. A courier found me- and it turns out that I have a place I need to go. Thank you, Meren, for your... Hospitality... But I must leave."

Meren nodded. "Okay." Was the only response he gave and wandered off. Teldryn shot Kaalenil a suspicious glance but didn't press the issue, following Meren's lead

Kaalenil shot a glare at Teldryn all the same. "Thank you again, Meren." He murmured, and left. 

But where to go? 

He couldn't stay in Raven Rock, that was obvious. Didn't the townsfolk mention a nord village to the north? Perhaps they'd take guests... If not, he supposed he'd try to make his way to Morrowind... But that was almost... Expected.... He sighed, gathering himself together and heading out past the Bulwark, towards the village up north, not knowing that in a few hours, he'd be left almost dead, buried in ash within the ash wastes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the end of the solstheim situation r u ready -e

Meren had a fun habit of forgetting to eat and then eating everything he could, which meant Teldryn got very little soup and instead ate the ash yams.

"You know he was lying right?" Teldryn asked. Meren nodded. "So why didn't you say anything?"

"Why? Wouldn't do anything." Meren told him. 

"Yeah but it's the principle of it."

 

Kaalenil found nightmares haunting his sleeping mind, most of which took place in only the dark, voices taunting him and fading out to the ticking of a clock steadily moving, unchanging, relentless.

 

"Look, I'm not saying he's a Thalmor informant--"

"He's not."

"That's why I'm not saying it." Teldryn sighed. "But if he is, he now knows exactly where you live. So we need to find him before he--"

"He's not an informant." Meren insisted. 

"Fine. Sure. Barring the fact that he left abruptly and he's been close mouthed about everything--"

"So have we."

"Gods damn it Meren let me finish!" Teldryn snapped. "I don't like having no clue about him and him be somewhere else. We know there are thalmor on the island, we dealt with a few already. All I'm asking is we go see if he's left the island or headed inland. We’ll go from there."

"Okay." Meren said after a moment.

They packed their gear and headed out, eyeing an approaching ash storm. Teldryn got information about the altmer from Glover Mallory and they headed out past the Bulwark, up the dusty road. 

"Can you track him?" Teldryn asked. 

"No. too much ash." Meren replied.

"Great. Come on."

 

The clock faded into screams, of children, of beggars. He was there, at the siege on the Imperial City, 30 odd years ago. He had been herding a group of misplaced children away from the wreckage, hiding his face beneath a hood.  He heard their voices echo, muffled, "are they coming for us, Mr. Kaalenil? Will they hurt us?" And his own voice rang louder, clearer. 

"... I don't... I don't know." 

 

Meren could pick up bits of scents. It was nowhere near as good as farther north or in Skyrim, but the traces of the man’s path were still there. Teldryn had his sword out, not looking forward to potentially getting jumped by ash spawn. Meren shuffled his feet as he went, eyes on the road in front of him.

 

Kaalenil was right not to tell them they would be safe. 

For they ended not being safe at all. 

They ended up dead. 

And Kaalenil ended up on the run once again. This time not with his own screams to haunt him, but with those of the children he couldn't save.

 

They were somewhere inland when the ash storm hit. Teldryn was fine, his armor and helmet kept everything out, but Meren rarely even wore an iron helmet, much less anything designed for Solstheim. He choked on ash, wrapping cloth around his mouth and nose in an effort to protect himself. Teldryn pushed him in annoyance and he kept moving, eyes almost shut. There was someone nearby, not a corpse, but close to it.

 

As the children's screams faded, his dream bled into vision, into the face of a woman, only a blur, dark skin, light hair, switching to that of a man, human, darkness around his eyes, then the light golden hue of-

 

Meren tripped over a body buried under the ash. He caught himself and began digging, finding the altmer. He looked up at Teldryn, afraid. 

"I'm not healing him right now, we're in the middle of an ash storm! Pick him up, we'll find a house or something." Teldryn said. Meren nodded.

 

Meren. 

The last one was Meren, without a doubt. 

Then who were the other two? 

It was safe to say the first was a dunmer, given the color of her skin... The other had been human...

They broke into an abandoned house and Teldryn began healing the man as Meren looked around for trap doors and other entrances.

Kaalenil, while asleep, murmured, through an ash-encrusted voice- 

"Dragonborn?"

Meren looked over, surprised. Teldryn forced water down the altmer's throat.

"What's he doing?" Meren asked. Teldryn shrugged. Probably night terrors, or hallucinations. Meren should know, given his awful sleeping habits.

Sputtering, Kaalenil bolted awake, looking around in confusion, then grabbing his side and moaning in pain.

"Would you hold still? You're going to rip open everything and I'm gonna just leave you here." Teldryn said, annoyed. "You're worse than Meren, I swear." Meren responded by coughing up ash and blood, and then dumping most of his water skin down his chest when he tried to drink.

Kaalenil's eyes widened. "What are you two doing here!? Where am I? Oh gods- you're going to-..." He glanced at Meren, terrified, probably the most genuine expression he had made in decades.

Meren looked confused, still drinking from the skin. Teldryn glanced between them. "What the fuck is going on." He said.

"You lay one, cold, dead finger on me and you'll find that you no longer have one!" Obviously he wasn't thinking logically. He was delirious, dehydrated, disoriented... Very confused and very scared, still stained by the nightmares and scared of the vampire before him.

Meren's face fell. 

"I swear to Azura, you make him cry and I'm throwing you into the ash storm." Teldryn threatened. 

"If you did you'd die." Meren said sadly, shoulders sagging. He switched from water to a dark red vial that he took more care in drinking.

Kaalenil put his hand to his mouth and gagged as he saw what Meren began to drink, his blue eyes trembling. Oh gods, it was true, oh gods - 

But Meren was Dragonborn. 

Dibella had told him.

He put the bottle away, staring at the floor. Teldryn put a hand on the hilt of his sword as he stood up, healing spell dying in his hands.

"Do-...do you know a dark elf woman with white hair and a human man with red eyes?" He choked out, his voice hoarse.

Meren froze, eyes moving up to stare at the wall. He nodded. "She's. She's not a good person. She's dragonborn, she's a vampire, but she..." Meren trailed off. 

"I have no idea who the human you're talking about is, but the woman is a shithead who'll stab her allies in the back if it means she gets something." Teldryn snapped.

"Why? Did someone call a hit on you?" Meren asked, worried.

"No.. No! No! You're Dragonborn, she's Dragonborn, the human has to be! The human has to be..." He exclaimed, his voice dying down, his eyes glossing over as he stared at the wall.

"Sorry." Meren said quietly. 

"So what? Are you hoping to find them?" Teldryn asked.

"She was... Telling me to help you. She was telling me it was alright to help you..." He murmured, still looking at the wall, "she hates the undead but for you... I need to help you!" His face shot towards Meren, a look of desperation.

Meren looked confused. "I hate me too, it's okay." He said, trying to calm Kaalenil down. The look Teldryn shot him made it clear he hadn't helped at all.

"No! Shut up! You don't understand! You're dragonborn, the dark elf is dragonborn! I'm supposed to help you! Do you know where to find he-" he stopped abruptly, eyes going even wider "the Thalmor. Did you kill them? Are they gone!?"

Meren immediately snapped to attention. 

"There were Thalmor up here?" He asked. 

"Shit-- there's a cabin they've got on the coast." Teldryn hastily explained. Meren glanced around. 

"I'll be back." He said quietly. 

"Where the fuck-- no. Absolutely not. Don't you dare." Teldryn said. 

"You're better at restoration than me. I'm better and tearing men limb from limb than you." Meren said simply.

"I'm coming with you." Kaalenil explained, jolting up before the pain caused him to fall back down and he winced and clenched his teeth.

Teldryn sighed, trying not to roll his eyes too much. "Ten minutes." He said. "Wait ten minutes so you don't choke to death on ash." Meren nodded and Teldryn went back to healing.

"You can't take them on all by yourself. Wizards. Three of them. With four soldiers. Sweet Dibella, how am I even still alive?" Kaalenil said, still very out of it. "The... dunmer. Who is she? Where is she? I think I was told we need to find her. And the human. Any idea as to the human?"

Teldryn shook his head. 

"We know the dunmer, not the human. Do you know where to start looking?" Teldryn asked.

"I've killed more than that before." Meren said quietly.

"Yeah but there's no way in Oblivion that I'm letting you take that risk when we have other options." Teldryn snapped.

"N-no, no she only showed me a dunmer with white hair, a human with red eyes, and Meren after having me listen to the siege on the Imperial City where I then escaped to-" his eyes widened "Skyrim! They're in Skyrim!"

Meren nodded quickly. "Can you walk yet?" He asked. "Because I'm going to kill the Thalmor."

"Yes. Yes!" He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a healing potion, drinking it down quickly, then setting the empty bottle on the ground. "Let's go." He said as pain seared through him, but he forced himself to try and hide it. 

Meren nodded. He could, for lack of a better term, smell injuries on people. One of the 'benefits' to being a vampire, finding the weaker members of society to make feeding easier. He didn't say anything, half the time he was running on no sleep and injuries himself.

"Yeah okay. Look, cover your face with something so you don't choke on ash." Teldryn said.

Kaalenil took a ripped part of his cloak and wrapped it around his face like a scarf. Even in such a mess of a state, he pulled it off, looking gorgeous. 

They found the Thalmor patrol almost back at the cabin. Meren hissed, no longer doing much to hide his nature. 

"So we're looking at a couple wizards, soldiers, and they're not going to have great visibility because of the ash storm. I'm thinking--" Teldryn started, and Meren lunged forward, mouth open as he headed for one of the wizards trailing behind.

Kaalenil scowled at Meren's hissing. Bestial. When the vampire charged into the group of Thalmor, however, he found himself almost hissing. Idiot! A ball of lightning twirled in his hands as he prepared for the onslaught to come.

Meren latched onto the wizard, ripping out his throat before he could scream. His eyes were glowing, while the blood vials and near constant intoxication kept the urges down, when he actually fed properly he went into a frenzy. He lunged for the next soldier, who did notice him and shouted a warning before being torn apart.

Kaalenil's lightning spell waned and he brought his hands to his face, holding back the urge to vomit, eyes quivering. Oh sweet Dibella, what had he gotten himself into? Flesh and blood lay mutilated on the ground, and the mortal altmer found himself feeling ill....

Teldryn shook his head , throwing an ice blast at the thalmor to slow them down and then following it up with chain lightning. Meren was busy tearing through eleven armor to get at someone's neck.

And Kaalenil was useless. 

Completely useless. 

The mess of flesh and bone and the screams of the Thalmor being ripped to shreds - he couldn't deal with the sights, the sounds... He was frozen. 

Just like he was 30 years ago. 

He tried jumping back 200 years, the time when Oblivion's maw opened and its hunger spread throughout Mundas. He wasn't frozen, then. Through all sights and sounds, he fought. 

But during the siege, children perished because he was idle. 

Now, though, the only people in danger were the Thalmor. 

Meren had it covered. 

And Kaalenil retched, dry, hands still on his mouth. 

Meren stood in the center of torn bodies and blood. His hands were wet, he could feel things sliding off his broken armor. He looked back at Teldryn, the rage and haze vanishing into fear. He turned away, blood drying on his armor. He was too close to the other one. The other  _ thing _ that seemed to haunt his every step. She wore blood like a cloak,  _ she _ was what people meant when they talked about monsters in swamps and demons tearing friends apart on lonely roads. And every time he let himself act like that he moved closer to becoming just as bad. He felt sick, staring at his own hands in disgust. He needed a drink.

Kaalenil was still frozen, mind racing. What if it was just a dream? What if Dibella hadn't been talking to him? 

... Of course she hadn't. He was a man. Dibella only communed directly with women. He knew this all too well - perhaps the one thing he resented about her. He was a man, but he was beautiful too. Who was to say he couldn't be? He- 

A voice rang in his head, floating as if in song, 

"Help him." 

He looked around, frantic, the source of the sound nowhere to be found. 

"He needs friendship. Help him." 

The voice rang again, mystical, more than mortal... 

She had been talking to him. 

Kaalenil looked forward at Meren, who seemed to be staring at his hands... The mortal altmer paused, then reached into his bag,  bringing out a piece of cloth and a bottle. He poured some water onto the handkerchief and walked over to Meren, bending down, looking him in the eye, then beginning to wipe the blood from his face.

Meren didn't move, staring at the other altmer with fear. He just let it happen, trying to step away from hyperventilating. Teldryn scanned the area, making sure they were safe.

When finished with his face, he moved onto his hands, and when done with that, he stood back up, tossing the bloodstained handkerchief over his shoulder. 

He sighed. "Unfortunately, it seems they weren't able to tell their superiors of my 'passing,' meaning, for all intents and purposes, I'm still alive in their book." He said, referencing the almost dead state the other two had found him. "But, they also won't be finding where you live, so that is one positive we can bring from this..." He sighed, "unfortunately, we will have to travel back to the mainland. To Skyrim. Meren, you will accompany me." He looked at Teldryn with a glare, "you may come along if you wish, or you may stay here. "


	16. Skyrim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes that special Boy  
> that's right it's torvar

Ice-Breath found himself in Whiterun again. He had a delivery to make to Adrianne, and he also wanted to buy some new smithing materials. Laria had retrieved Esbern, and they had delivered him to Riverwood, being told to meet them at a place called the 'Karthspire,' but Ice-Breath had things to do first. 

As he walked through the gates, a man from behind him bumped into him, almost knocking him over. 

"Oh, heh, sorry about that!" The man, a nord with blond hair in a short ponytail and a beard, red cheeks and a grin on his face, patted Ice-Breath on the back as if they were old friends. His voice rang jovially, friendly. " 'Was just at the Meadery. Hard to resist when you can smell the honey on the wind. The name's Torvar, I don't think I've met you before. Mind introducin' yourself?" 

If Ice-Breath still could have blushed, he would, but without blood pumping through his veins, that was difficult. He became almost flustered, but tried to play it off. "H-hey! Name's Ice-Breath. I can see you're a man of good taste." He said, gesturing to the bottle of mead in Torvar's hand.

 

Laria was sitting outside the gates, pulling as much information from both the books she had picked up in the embassy and the ones she'd technically stolen from Esbern in the ratway. It was easy to tell which ones came from where, mould and damp tended to cling to everything. She had a better idea of the White-Gold Concordat now, and if anything, was significantly calmer now that she had a basic understanding of the current events.

 

"You should come with me next time, eh?" Torvar said with a grin. "But I gotta get back ta Jorrvaskr.... Hey, why don't you walk back with me? Could share a drink on the way." 

Ice-Breath found himself getting nervous. "Of course! Let me just..." He popped through the gate and hissed at Laria "Hey! I'm uh... Just... Just come with. But don't get too close!"

Laria looked up at him, confused, and gave him a questioning motion with her hands. She did pack up her books though. But he was already gone, making his way to Jorrvaskr with Torvar. 

If this man was going to Jorrvaskr, it was likely he was a Companion. Ice-Breath had to admit he was... Iffy, on the bunch. It seemed almost as if they perturbed the original spirit of the first 500, fighting for money instead of honor. 

But he stole for money, so he couldn't talk. 

Torvar handed a bottle to Ice-Breath, and he took it graciously, taking a large swig. Torvar chuckled "See, you know how it's done."

Laria trailed behind him, following his vague orders to keep her distance. It didn't bother her, if she was being used as a bodyguard so be it. Even if he insisted they were friends. She pulled out another book, beginning a dry read on the Wolf Queen Potema.

"Well, here's my stop." Torvar said, "Maybe we can share a drink again sometime, huh?" 

"Certainly." Ice-Breath replied with a grin as Torvar turned and walked up the steps, but the vampire was pulling all of his energy to keep it together. 

Gods, it was awful. 

The smell of  _ dog _ . 

Why hadn't he ever smelled the stench before?

He supposed vampirism would be the answer to that.

But did they have dogs at Jorrvaskr? 

He covered his mouth and nose with his hand and stepped back, trying his best to get away from the repulsive stench. 

 

A courier ran up to the dark elf as she read, out of breath.  "I've got a letter for you!" He said, holding a yellowing piece of parchment towards her. "Your hands only. Don't know who it's from, creepy guy though. Paid me a pretty sum to get it into your hands."

Laria took it, opening it and snorting. A black handprint was pressed into the parchment, followed by 'we know' in a measured handwriting. Professional. Educated. The symbol of the Dark Brotherhood. She folded the letter and nodded to the courier, beginning to plan her next course of action. It wasn't the first time she'd dealt with them, though most of the time they just sent assassins after her. An attempt to contact her, albeit with a more threatening phrasing than a simple contact would warrant. She smirked, recognizing that she'd stolen a brotherhood hit and now they were coming for her. They would try.

Ice-Breath walked over to Laria, still covering his nose. 

"I didn't know the Companions had dogs." He said, looking over her shoulder. "You got a letter? People actually want to contact you?"

Laria made a face and flipped him off. "Dark Brotherhood. My killing of the orphan keeper did not go unnoticed." She signed.

Ice-Breath rolled his eyes. "Oh good. If they come for you in your sleep, that's on you." He said. "Speaking of which, let's go to the Bannered Mare. There's a few hours of daylight left and I'd... Rather not travel in them. We can catch some rest."

Laria snorted and waved her hand to let him lead the way. Her stance was casual, more relaxed than she'd been for days. It was probably an unknown threat coming at her from an unknown angle that made her feel right at home. She decided not to put that on the list of how fucked up she was.

Ice-Breath walked into the inn, and a wall of the smell of blood hit him. Not blood outside of bodies, but the sheer amount of people made it... Almost unbearable to resist.... 

He bit his lip. He hadn't fed in over a week. It still felt --  _ wrong -- _ .. To him. Eating what he, on some level, still considered himself to be. 

But he was so hungry. 

He stood in the doorway, lost in these thoughts, moving his gaze from one person to the next. 

Laria prodded his shoulder. She had no time for him losing control. If anything she'd find someone drunk, convince them to go to their room, and let him feed. It didn't always have to end in death, not if one was careful.

He slipped back into reality and shook his head. No, he's forego feeding as long as he... As long as he could. He walked up to Hulda, giving her a smile and a greeting, then asked to rent two beds, whether that meant a room with two beds or two rooms. She ended up having two rooms. He paid, bought a bottle of mead, and turned towards a table where a woman in steel-plate armor sat. It seemed to be the only free chair, so he took a seat there. 

As he sat, the woman took a drink, and looked him straight in the eye. 

"You know, they say you never really know a woman until you challenge her to a fist fight." 

Ice-Breath raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Are you asking for a challenge, then?" 

She nodded. "100 septims says I knock your ass to the ground." 

Without even looking, Ice-Breath fished out a number of Septims and slammed them on the table. "You're on!"

Laria left them to fight and went upstairs, checking the potential entry and exit points carefully. There weren't many, the only ones the door and the window. If they wanted to kill her, either way they'd have a bad time.

Ice walked up, a grin on his face and 100 extra septims in hand. "What're you looking for?" He asked, noticing the way Laria was searching.

Laria motioned to the window and door. "Entry points. Stands to reason that any assassin would choose the path less noticed." She shrugged. "If they decide to act now and attempt to kill me, they will be disappointed."

Ice sighed and waved her away. "Whatever. I'm going to bed. Try to get some sleep without dying." With that, he went into his room and fell asleep.

Laria watched him go and closed the door, sitting down against it and the corner, eyeing the window. She'd wake up at the first stab wound.

Astrid lurked atop the roof of the Bannered Mare, silent and unseen.  Once the woman who had stolen their contract fell asleep, she would make her move...

Laria could pretend to be dead more convincingly than many corpses. She shut her eyes, slipping into the half-aware state she took in the barrow. It was almost soothing, the constant stream of risk/reward management and information about her surroundings silenced until the only thing she was aware of were those in close proximity to her.

Astrid swooped in, and gently, quietly, an air of nonexistence about her... She looked over the elf, trying to pinpoint the best method of doing this...

Laria waited, the intruder's presence known. Let her get close, let her get in reach. The most she could do would be to stab Laria-- and she'd survived much worse. Astrid reached her hands beneath Laria, one beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and hoisted her over her shoulder.

So that was how it'd work. She waited until the woman had left the building and was out of the city. Laria opened her eyes. 

"In my personal opinion, I've found that swamps and rivers are best for hiding bodies. I'm glad I'm dealing with a professional."

Astrid glanced back at the elf, surprise glimmering in her eyes for a fraction of a moment before she chuckled. "Oh, don't you worry, there won't be a body this time... Or, at least, the body won't be yours."

Laria smirked. "Is this a blood-for-blood situation?" She asked.

Astrid returned the expression. "Ah, so you  _ are _ a clever one. You know full well you stole one of our contracts - so now you must repay us with the death of another."

Laria snorted. "Who needs death, then?" She asked. "On an unrelated note, you have an incredible endurance. You're quite sure you'd rather carry me? Not that I mind." She was completely in her element at that point.

Astrid glanced back "I was planning on carrying you the whole way, as I was hoping you'd remain asleep. " she chuckled. "A cabin in Haafingar. We'll discuss who needs to be sent to the void once we get there."

"Of course. You don't happen to have water, do you? The burns make it difficult to speak." Laria told her.

"You'll have to remain silent then, it seems." Astrid said with a chuckle.

Laria shrugged. "Back to usual then." She said and stopped talking.

The trip was relatively calm, nothing much got in their way. It helped that Astrid was more than prepared to rely on stealth to help them avoid such complications. Once arriving at the cabin, she tossed Laria on the floor and locked the door, tossing the keys up nonchalantly and shoving them in her pocket. 

"Here we are. As we already discussed, blood for blood. Here are three people I've-" she stopped, chuckling, "where I got them isn't really important. What  _ is _ important is that one of them has to die. But... Oh, which one? One of them has a hit out on them, and you're to figure out who it is, and kill them. Go ahead, make your kill." 

 

Ice awoke in a bit of a daze. He really should sleep more often, because a few hours certainly didn't cut it. He gathered his stuff and barged into Laria's room. 

"Hey corpse-eater, it's time to-" 

But the bed was empty. Her stuff was clearly still there, but Laria was... Gone... 

His eyes widened. Dammit! Either she was playing an unbelievably cruel prank on him or the Brotherhood got to her... He rushed downstairs. 

"Hey Hulda. You know the elf I was with? Did you see her leave?" 

Of course, the answer was no. 

He cursed under his breath and went back upstairs. Looking around, he saw her stuff, untouched, so he decided to pack it up and carry it with him. It had a strange smell. He didn't want to know what that was. Looking down, he spotted something. 

Mud- no, silt, and a petal... Purple. Deathbell. 

Either Hjallmarch or Haafingar. This was his lead. Going downstairs, he flipped a septim at Hulda as a tip, and made his way out of the city, towards the swamps.

 

Laria stood up, beginning to check the prisoners. A test, then. She whispered in their ears, promising freedom for information. And they obliged. The nord screamed, begging for his life, the only woman, an enraged mother threatening her, the cat promising death for her 'insolence'. She chose the one most likely to come after her later. She snapped the cat's neck.

Astrid chuckled. "The conniving khajiit. Someone had to want him dead, right?" 

 

Ice couldn't find footprints, couldn't find any hint of a material trail... But what he could find, was smell. The same one from Laria's bag. A smell he wouldn't be able to pick up if he were still--

He clenched his fists and kept walking, finding himself stopped outside a small, abandoned cabin near Solitude.

 

Astrid gave Laria a passphrase and the location of their sanctuary in Falkreath. Laria gave her a mocking salute and a smirk when she was handed the key to leave. The exterior of the cabin was nondescript, on the only truly solid land in a hundred feet. Everything else was either underwater or soggy mud.

 

"L-Laria!!!" Ice exclaimed as he saw her exit the building. "You're alive? They didn't kill you!? By Molag's Ballsack, I was sure I'd find you dead!"

She stared at him. "It takes more than one woman with a knife to kill me, nord." She signed and took her pack from him.

"Fuck off, how was I supposed to know it was only one?" He said, thinking to himself how one might kill Laria. And if he could do it. 

Not because he wanted to, because he certainly didn't, but--

He sighed. "Fine then. What's the plan?"

She shrugged. "Head for Falkreath. There's a sanctuary for them there. Unless you have business in Riften with your thieves." She signed and drank some water.

He sighed. "Nothing that needs immediate attention. I'll follow you."

She nodded and began walking, not really upset about the water coming up to her knees in places. She'd dealt with worse, and she'd lived in worse places.

Out of the brush, something whizzed past Ice-Breath's face and lodged itself within a tree with a "kr-chnk" 

He looked from the tree to where the bolt had come from, only to see a number of men and women in uniforms like he had never seen, holding axes and crossbows... 

By this time, the sun was out, and Ice didn't really want to fight while in the light, but if these people would try and attack him for no reason.... 

He drew his sword, preparing the drain spell in his other hand, then glanced at Laria. Perhaps she knew why they were attacking them?

Laria had her daggers out, eyeing the armoured figures. She didn't think it was a warning shot, whomever had the crossbow had just missed. And now they had alerted the two so they gave up on stealth.

Ice glanced at them a moment before charging in, dodging bolts as they shot at him again. He cast the drain spell on one while he slashed the throat of another.

Laria spun her daggers as she lunged forward, slicing open one’s throat and moving out of the way as another swung an axe at her head. They were too coordinated for bandits, and they had uniform armor. An organized group-- and the next step of her plan would be to loot their corpses and get information.

Ice grabbed one by the back of the head and shoved him under the murky water, holding him there until the struggling stopped. Standing up, he sighed, seeing that the rest had been dealt with. He looked around at the corpses and bent down to examine one. "Who do you think they are? Why did they attack us?" He murmured.

Laria made a 'wait a moment' gesture and dug through their pockets before holding up orders. "Dawnguard, called a hit." She signed. "The vampire hunters." She laughed. "Brilliant. This is why some clans see mortals only as cattle. Useless in combat and useless in life."

Ice-Breath scowled. "Of course they're not cattle. They're people. But they should realize that we're people too. To think they'd make an entire organisation-" he laughed a little "-.... Assholes."

Laria nodded. "Our options are laid out. Focus on Falkreath, focus on dawnguard, focus on Alduin." She signed. "In that order. Unless you want to go back to dog-house and the companions." She offered.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No, absolutely not. I don't ever want to smell dog that strong again. I'll... Send a courier to Torvar. Have us meet at a Tavern somewhere. But right now we have more pressing matter. I'm partial to your plan. Let's go to Falkreath."

She shot him a genuine smile, looking friendlier than she had before and motioned for him to follow as she began tramping through swamp water.

 

\--

 

They arrived at Falkreath at dusk, and Ice was exhausted. That's what he got for not feeding, he supposed. He sighed, looking towards Laria. "Okay. We're here. Now what?"

"There should be-- here." She went off the road into the woods a ways to where a pond sat. A black door with a skull relief was in the hillside and Laria approached it. 

"What is life's greatest illusion?" The door whispered. 

"Innocence, my brother." Laria replied softly. 

"Welcome home."

"What the fuck..." Ice-Breath murmured, eyes on the talking door, then raised an eyebrow at Laria.

She shrugged. "Wait here?" She signed.

"I can't come inside?" He asked. If he was being completely honest, he wasn't sure if he even _ wanted  _ to go in there, but...

"They don't know you exist, they don't know me. I'd rather not walk in with a stranger and no basis of knowledge for them to check if I'm about to attack them. Also you look blood starved. Go eat some bandits." Laria signed.

"Yeah, that makes sense, I'll wait out here." He raised an eyebrow "You  _ just _ noticed? Laria, I've been blood starved for a week and a half. That's not important right now. What  _ is _ important is that you don't fucking die in there. If things get violent you had better come and get me to help."

Laria waved him off. "Mentioning it to you earlier would go nowhere. We both know this. And may I reiterate-- I can't die." She signed and then went into the tunnel, effectively ending the conversation.

Ice-Breath rolled his eyes and plopped down on the ground near the door. Whatever.

Laria listened to the assassins argue, and let their suspicious gazes fall on her. It wasn't abnormal or uncomfortable any more. She let them talk over her, and be given an assignment by Astrid before taking a moment to introduce herself. She doubted she'd be spending much time with them, but she might as well not end up stabbed in a corner.

Ice, already bored out of his undead mind, glanced at the door. "What's life's biggest illusion, huh? I'll tell ya. Smooth sailing is one. Oh, and that one where he saws the lady in half. There's that mass paralysis spell..." He looked down. "... And that you're always moving forward."

Laria walked back out of the hideout and into the grey light, staring at the nord on the ground.

Ice jumped up, hoping she hadn't heard him. "-er, you're not dead. That's good."

"I am dead. I'm just still walking." She said flatly. "Next part, begin dealing with Dawnguard."

He sighed, "yeah, you and me both. So how do you plan on dealing with this Dawnguard?" 

"Information first. Where their base is. We already have half of that, there is a fort near Riften. I need as much history and documentation on these clowns as possible." She signed.

"Until then, we should deal with the blades."

"Okay, and where do you plan on getting this information?" He said.

She shrugged. "nords apparently have no libraries. So I need books." She signed, then muttered, "or I could see how difficult pulling information from dawnguard soldiers is. Finger breaking may be effective."

"I really don't understand your fascination with books and these 'libraries'. And that's... That's sort of awful? Why don't we just ask around or something." He said "I know we have to deal with the Blades as well but... I have a heist to pull. Maybe you can go to Karthspire, or look for a library or something while I do that?"

Laria nodded, giving a half-hearted wave and walking off through the forest. Karthspire was in the Reach, and her first 'official' hit was there as well.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna lose power to this derecho and im mad  
> watch me kick the weathers' ass -e


	17. Chapter 17

Ice-Breath waited in Whiterun, where they had agreed to meet up. There, he sat outside near the Gildergreen with Torvar, their voices jovial and laughter loud.  

Ice-Breath had returned from his heist, at a bee farm, no less, with pockets full of coin and the newfound respect of the guild. Apparently even Vex, their best infiltrator, couldn't make it in.  But he had, and he had found what they were looking for. But, he was also in Riften, and, of course, the fort the Dawnguard used was there. He was lucky to find a Dawnguard member within the city walls of Riften, trying to recruit, and he acted as an interested candidate. The Dawnguard must have been imbeciles, because even with his blood-starved appearance, he didn't catch on. Thanks to his stupidity, however, he got a lot of information to tell Laria. And he didn't even need to read any books.

 

The hit was exceedingly simple-- go to a ruin, find a bandit, kill the bandit. Go to Windhelm, find a woman, kill the woman. She did, briefly considering using Alain's head as a belt ornament but settled for returning to Muiri in Markarth, gaining money and a ring. She was calm, the woman sweet, and they made tentative plans to meet later. Karthspire was full of forsworn, it turned out, and she removed a good chunk with her bow before heading up to Whiterun to meet up with the nord.

 

"So you've seen what I do for a living. What about you?" Torvar asked between sips of his mead. 

"I'm a mercenary. Just a freelance sellsword." Ice-Breath replied. It wasn't really a lie. He  _ had  _ been a mercenary at one point. And now he was... What even was he? 

A monster. 

But that couldn't be said. 

"Aaay we're kinda mercenaries too! Better than mercenaries!! You should join us! We've got extra room and I'd get ta see ya more often" Torvar said, gesturing towards Jorrvaskr. 

Ice-Breath, again, would have blushed if it were possible. Torvar really enjoyed his company?

 

Laria slew another dawnguard agent, though she hung the body from a tree as a warning before moving on. She was almost to Whiterun, having made a quick detour in the sanctuary to deliver her report.

 

"I... Can't." He said, then shot back into speaking "I mean, just, not right now! I have certain... Responsibilities to attend to, I guess? It's... Hard to explain, man. Hard to explain." He sighed and took a big gulp of his mead, "way too hard to explain." 

Torvar laughed "PFFF I think you're drunk.... I think I might be drunk too." 

Their conversation found itself abruptly interrupted, and Ice found himself covering his mouth again as a nord woman, blazing red hair and intense green eyes, war-paint smearing her face, walked over. 

"Torvar!" She called, her voice strong and with conviction, "I thought you agreed to train today!" 

"I did" he said with a chuckle "but my friend is in town and we decided to have a little drink." He gestured towards Ice-Breath. 

Aela looked at the vampire suspiciously, wrinkling her nose in digest as well. "Ugh, it smells like death.." She murmured, then turned towards Torvar again. "Come on, visiting time is over!" 

"Aww alright. Find me again when you're back in town!" Torvar said to Ice-Breath with a wink as he turned and headed into Jorrvaskr. Aela glared at him, then did the same. 

Gods, if anything smelled like dog, it was her.

 

Laria slowly walked up the road, hands in her pockets as she looked for the nord.

 

Ice-Breath stayed by the Gildergreen, bottle of mead in hand. It was midday, and he pulled his hood over his head. He didn't want it on when Torvar was around.

Laria spotted him, glancing around as the smell of dog and human hit her. "Why." Was all she signed, trying to convey the thought.

He looked up at Laria, somewhat tipsy, and smiled a little bit. "He smells like honey. You know, I don't think I would have been able to know that if-" he chuckled and shook his head. "Almost purified the smell of dog. Whatever. How'd your killing people bullshit go?"

She snorted. "Well. Met the woman who ordered the hit, had dinner with her. Killed the targets, got the coin. Anything on Dawnguard?" She signed.

"Hooo boy probably too much on 'em! Damn idiots don't know when to shut up." He said "got some on their history, their current members, AND what they're looking into now. Take your pick."

"Current mission, current members." Laria signed.

"Well, the leader is a redguard named Isran. Former vigilant. Huge asshole. Apparently his family was killed by vampires or something. Then there's Durak, orc, multiple wives killed by vampires as well. 10 septims says he was the one who approached us before. There's Agmaer, really young, newer member, shows a lot of 'promise.' Recently they've enlisted the help of Gunmar, a blacksmith who trains trolls of all things, Sorine Jurard, a breton who works on their crossbows, and Florentius, an imperial priest of Arkay. Says he can talk directly to him. Take that for what you will. 

Apparently the hall of the Vigilants was attacked. They're freaking out, the ones that are still alive at least, and the went to the Dawnguard for help. Apparently a group of vampires are poking around an old crypt, Dimhollow,  in the Pale. They're looking for something, and the Dawnguard are looking to send people to find it before they do." He smirked "What do you say we find it before either of 'em?" 

Laria smiled ferally. "Let's go fuck them over." She signed.

Ice-Breath mimicked Laria's expression. "Fuck yes." 

 

\--

 

When they arrived at Dimhollow, they could hear voices from inside. "I'm hoping they're the vampires. I'm assuming they won't attack us if we enter. The Dawnguard surely will." Ice-Breath murmured.

Laria glanced around, listening. "Vampires tend to not like other vampires. You want to make the first move go ahead." She signed.

Ice grumbled "Dammit, I've been a vampire for how long? Like three weeks and I still don't know any of this..."

"You also refuse to read so that's part of the issue." Laria responded with her hands.

"I just don't... Get it... Reading, I mean. I always get distracted." He said "it's not that I _ refuse  _ to, necessarily-- I just--. " he scowled "don't know anything about... This."

She shrugged. Saval had a similar problem, as did the last-- as did Rin. She was the scholar. She'd always been the scholar. She shook her head and drew her bow, putting an arrow into a vampire's face.

"By Shor," Ice-Breath hissed "I'm totally not prepared for this!" He took his bow and followed Laria's lead, shooting a few death hounds.

Laria had her daggers out and ran forward, slicing open the other vampire and turning, looking around for how to open the iron gate.

Ice-Breath was already on it, running up a flight of stairs to pull on the chain. He darted back down.... 

He looked at Laria, as if he was going to say something, then shook his head and moved onward.

Laria dropped low, bow out as she heard someone yelling from a ways down the hall. It was another vampire, who spotted them and set a frostbite spider on the two. She rolled her eyes and shot the spider before moving for the vampire.

Ice-Breath drew his sword and slashed at the vampire, trying to stay out of the way of Laria's arrows.

Laria turned her focus to a Dawnguard soldier charging them and lunged forward with her dagger, slicing open their neck and letting them fall before shooting at the vampire behind them.

Ice-Breath gritted his teeth at the sight of the Dawnguard. So they had arrived at just about the same time... His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. More fun, then.

Laria's focus shifted to the architecture of the crypt. It was older than the nordic barrows, and the lack of carvings on the walls suggested it was dug quickly for a specific purpose-- not to hold the dead. She continued through, cutting down mortal and vampire alike. A death hound tore into her arm and she kicked it away, stomping on its neck savagely. The winding maze-like passages were less like other barrows' spiralling outward as there were more corpses than room, and more like a deliberate architectural design.

Laria was mowing down enemies left and right, leaving none for Ice-Breath. He growled under his breath and followed, a little bitter.  Something about this tomb seemed... Different... He couldn't put his finger on it but the air... The air tasted strange.

"This is old. See? No draugr. No wayward adventurers. I suspect this tomb hasn't been opened for at least six centuries." Laria signed quickly as the last corpses fell to the ground.

As she spoke, Ice picked something up, the sound of voices, resonating as if in a chamber, through the nearest door. He put his finger up to his lips and snuck forward. It sounded as if one man was torturing another. But for what reason?

The next room was a balcony overlooking a massive cavern, broken stairs and stone gargoyles stretching down towards a set of stone pillars. Definitely not traditional nordic. Laria took it in, listening to the people below with half attention.

The one man, likely mortal, perished, and the other two, likely vampires, went on their merry way towards the middle. 

Well, no guts, no glory. 

Ice-Breath kept off of the balcony in a roll, slicing one of the vampire's heads clean off. He then attacked the other, drain spell cast. Laria made a motion of 'what the fuck do you think you're doing' before drawing her bow and shooting the remaining vampire.

The last vampire fell to the ground, and Ice-Breath sheathed his sword, then darted over to the circle within the pillars. 

There seemed to be a button in the middle... 

No guts, no glory... 

He pressed it- and a sharp spine of metal ripped through his palm. He winced and yelped as it retracted, but a glowing purple light burst to life.

Laria watched him, more annoyed than concerned. "It's truly stunning that the nords didn't fucking go extinct, with how much you rush into things." She said. "If you have nerve damage from that you're on your own to heal."

"Yeah, tell that to the first 500... Damn elf" he said, saying it more out of frustration and pain than actual malice or racism. "I'll be fine." He said, casting the healing spell on it. It closed up nicely and was back to normal in no time. Laria rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

He growled and went to the brazier the light was pointing to and pushed it. It flickered to life.

"Okay, there's one..." He murmured.

Laria glanced over the braziers and pushed them towards the lights as well, still looking around for enemies.

With the last one put into place, the ground trembled and a stone case emerged. From it, a woman tumbled. 

Laria kept her distance, taking in as much information about the woman as possible. A nord, undead, still functional but disoriented-- she wouldn't be too much of a threat initially.

Ice rushed forward to catch her before she hit the floor. The woman jumped back, looking between them both. 

"Who... Are you? It... Well, at least you're both... Like me..." 

Ice-Breath furrowed his brow "Like you how?"

"Vampires, nord." Laria said. "What's with the big scroll you're wearing?"

"O-oh..." Ice-Breath muttered.

"It's an Elder Scroll. And it's mine." The woman said firmly. "I'm... Serana. Nice to meet you... Whoever you are..."

Laria gave a half wave and looked around again, still checking for enemies.

Ice-Breath gave Laria a glare, and shook his head, turning back to Serana. "This is Laria. She's rude. I'm Ice-Breath. No first name, just Ice-Breath." 

Serana nodded. "I need your help. I... Need to get back to my home. Outside of Solitude. Do you know how to get out of here?"

Laria shook her head. "Probably through a tunnel." She said. "Or back the way we came. Or forward."

Serana crossed her arms. "Fine then. Let's go." 

Ice-Breath began gnawing on his knuckles again as they moved forward.

Laria refused to take point, instead bringing up the rear as they approached the set of gargoyles. The stone beasts came to life, rocky shells flying.

Ice-Breath jumped back, sword at the ready, drain spell prepared in the other hand. He rushed forward, sticking the sword through one of the gargoyle's sides. Serana fought using her drain spell and ice-based destruction spells. Laria drew her bow, spitting at the fact that one needed hands to cast-- and hers had no nerve endings that worked properly any more. She used her next best skills-- shooting anything hostile with daedric arrows.

The one gargoyle fell as Serana shot an ice-spike it its direction. Ice-breath turned to the other, and cast the drain spell on it from afar.

Laria shot the gargoyle in the face, letting it fall to the ground heavily.

Ice-Breath sighed, and walked forward.  Luckily, the exit was not far, but next to it was a wall, chanting at him. He walked over, letting the word surround him. The more of these he learned, the better, he thought. 

But this one... 

This resonated with him in a way the others they had encountered hadn't. 

Not checking if the other other two were following, he made his way outside, taking a deep breath before stepping into the blazing sunlight. Damn it.

The word wall was shouting at her, explaining old texts and folklore based on history. She let the words curl around her, eyes on their surroundings.

Ice-Breath sat down in the snow and pulled his hood over his face. Serana followed, taking a deep breath. "I don't miss the sun, but I do miss the fresh air.  This is nice." 

The nord male glanced up at her. "I wish the sun would just disappear, if I'm being honest. I can't stand this. It's like a pain I never knew existed." 

Serana then raised an eyebrow at him, confused as to why he was complaining about it as if he hadn't felt it before, or at least, not often.

Laria stood in ankle-deep snow, not fully invested in their conversation. She had the distinct thought of 'magic requires an outlet to be functional' and then considered using her feet as the outlet. The burns on her hands kept that option shut, but given a focus and a specific object she could use alteration on items. So it stood to reason that she could potentially cast destruction magic with her feet.

Ice-Breath turned to Laria as she exited. 

"Hey..." He murmured "I've been... Thinking for awhile now... After we uh... Help Serana get home, can we stop somewhere? Like.. Solitude or something? I'd uh..." He bit his lip "If you're able to, could you teach me how to make a... Thrall?"

Laria blinked, trying to process what he was saying. She nodded slowly. They were heading north above Solitude, then going back down. She'd have time to remember the steps required.

Serana raised an eyebrow and whispered to Laria "Did he seriously just ask you how to make a thrall? That's one of the most basic things..."

Laria shrugged. "He's a special case." She said.

"Special case?  That's apparent.  You'd think after spending even just a few years as a vampire, you'd figure it out on your own." She whispered in response.

"A few weeks at most." She muttered. "He's new."

Serana rolled her eyes "Oh, good!  Glad we have a baby among us." 

"You know I can hear you!" Ice-Breath called from the front.

"That's why I'm speaking, nord." Laria replied before chugging her water. He flipped her off and kept walking. 

Serana looked at Laria, and gestured towards the nord. "Your doing, then?"

"If by that you mean I didn't waste effort forcing him to get cured? No, he did this to himself." Laria stated.

"I'm assuming not on purpose..." she replied, hand on hip, looking at Ice like he was the slow puppy in the litter.

Laria snorted. "Perceptive. How long were you in that cave?"

"Hard to tell." She responded "Who's Skyrim's high king?"

Laria shrugged. "I have no idea. Nord, who is the high king?" She asked.

Ice-Breath sighed. "There isn't one right now. Once the Moot meets, it'll be between Ulfric Stormcloak and... I believe the Empire will be supporting Elisif."

"Empire? What Empire?" Serana asked.

"Yes you never actually answered that question. Who's the emperor?" Laria asked.

Ice's shoulders lowered and he moaned "Oh no, no-no-no how long  _ have _ you been down there? Please tell me that you know about the Empire from Cyrodiil." 

"Cyrodiil's the seat of an empire? I was down there for longer than I thought... Definitely longer than I planned." 

Ice turned to Laria "I thought I told you that the emperor was Titus Mede II."

"You got distracted when I asked about the Septims-- the  _ Medes _ are the current dynasty? Jokes. The lot of them are intermarrying jokes." Laria said.

Ice-Breath sighed. "Most of Tamriel seems to think so right now, what with the White-Gold Concordat and the Aldmeri Invasion..." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Give us a refresher course, sir nords-don't-have-fucking- _ libraries _ ." Laria said, drawing water from the river and then drinking most of it.

Ice-Breath turned and growled at her. "I'm starting to wish we  _ did _ have libraries!  Look, what happened was the Aldmeri Dominion went to Titus Mede II with a number of contracts they demanded he sign.  Among these were the ban of Talos worship, and the dissolution of the Blades. He refused, of course, and the Thalmor representative dumped out all the severed heads onto the ground of all the Blades stationed in the Summerset Isles.  There was an Aldmeri siege on the Imperial City. Countless people died. The war roared on for years, all across Tamriel, until they decided to sign a treaty called the White-Gold Concordat that, as the elves wanted before, banned Talos worship and got rid of the Blades. As you know from our Blades friends, however, they ended up killing all of the Blades.  Most of the provinces now view Mede as some sort of pushover. I don't know what they expected of him. Not like he could live up to the Septims." 

Serana was completely lost "I came back at a wonderful time, didn't I?" 

Ice-Breath growled at her too.

Laria shrugged at Serana. "Sometimes I think I should have never left the cave I was living in."

Ice-Breath sneered "Oh please, you were sitting in there ambushing wanderers and then eating them.  Now you get to hang with  _ me _ ." he said, knowing that he was likely the reason she’d wish she never left her cave. He honestly had no idea why she hadn't killed him yet. He wasn't sure he could stop her if she wanted to try.

"Well you have a high opinion of yourself. Tell me, what happened to the Cyrodiil Mages Guild?" She asked.

"It was a joke." Ice-Breath said through gritted teeth. If he had a high opinion of himself, he wouldn't have to make jokes like that all the time. "The mages guild? I... don't pay attention to magic things, but I don't think... I don't think they exist anymore.  I'm pretty sure people closed them down after the crisis. There is a college up north if you want to check that out, but I've heard some... Weird things about that place."

Laria began laughing. "They're gone? They're fucking gone? Yes! I told them I'd outlast their stupid guild! I outlasted them may those clowns roll in their graves!" She said loudly, cackling.

"What the fuck..." Ice-Breath murmured under his breath, suddenly questioning why he was friends with this woman in the first place. 

Serana crossed her arms. "Look, you two babbling is interesting and all, but we really have to get to my home as quickly as possible."

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

"So uh, Serana.  You could have, uh... Told us you lived in a FUCKING CASTLe instead of, ya know, just saying you had to be 'taken home.'" Ice-Breath said, looking up at the keep with genuine awe, despite his irritated tone. 

"Didn't want to scare you away." Serana said. "Hey, before we go in there..." 

Ice-Breath furrowed his brow "What is it? Are you doing okay?" 

"Y-yeah!  And thanks for asking... I uh...  the way this turns out may change drastically depending on who's in there. Just... stay back and let me do the talking, okay?"

"That is what I excel at, Serana. Lead the way." Laria said casually. She'd never really gone into castles, she tended more towards keeps and mansions when working, so it was a nice change.

When they entered the castle, they were greeted by an altmer.  Also a vampire, Ice-Breath assumed by the glowing orange eyes. 

"How dare you trespass here! - Lady Serana? Is that truly you?" He went to the balcony above the stairs "Lady Serana is back!" 

Serana made her way downstairs, a hall littered with bloody bones and kegs filled with crimson, silver platters holding chunks of human flesh. Death Hounds prowled the area, darkness wafting from their frostbitten flesh, and lining the tables seemed to be living humans, on which other vampires fed. 

A man arose from a throne in the back. 

"Well, if it's not my long lost daughter.  I trust you have my Elder Scroll?"

"Really? After all this time and that's the first thing you have to say to me?" 

"Must I really say it? Welcome back, my daughter.  If only your traitor mother were here to watch this reunion before I put her head on a spike. Now, pray tell, who are these strangers you've brought into our home?"

"These are the ones who rescued me, and brought me back here safely." Serana said, waving the two to come closer.

Laria listened to the two, taking in the information. The man's first focus was on property, not his child. Her own memories threatened to resurface, but she pushed them down. There was no longer any time for rumination and regret, not when she had duties to fulfil.

Ice-Breath, being... himself, tapped Laria on the shoulder frantically when he saw the man. "Look at him, Laria, look-" he whispered, until Harkon spoke to them, and he stepped back. 

"For the safe return of my Elder Scroll, and my Daughter, I am grateful.  I'm sure by now she has told you what we are?"

"You are a group of cannibalistic cultists living in a ruin?" Laria asked. She knew damn well what they were, of course. She just immediately decided to be as insulting as possible.

".... No, but I can see how one can come to that assumption." Harkon said, giving her a slight glare "We are vampires, one of the oldest and most powerful clans in Skyrim. Now, tell me, who are you?"

She stared him down, unmoving. "I am Laria." She said evenly. "Who are you?"

"I am Harkon, lord of this court." He looked towards Ice-Breath "And you?" 

Ice-Breath refrained from saying something like 'the man of your dreams,' and just went with his usual "Ice-Breath. Just Ice-Breath, no first name," but this time it was a bit softer than what was typical.  He had to admit, he was a little overwhelmed. The sights, the smells... 

"The safe return of my daughter and my Elder Scroll was certainly no easy task.  There is only one thing I can give in equal value...I offer you my blood. Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep.  Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again."

This was interesting. Laria's focus was on him already, but now there was a purpose other than 'be rude'. She hadn't feared death for a long time, but to be even stronger? She could smell it on him, raw energy and rage spinning through a fleshy frame. 

"It is a gift then? A fair exchange?" She asked. "If it is truly so, I accept." She was always up for blood.

Ice-Breath was now very confused. "Wait, wait slow down.  You're vampires, and I'm assuming that by taking your blood you're offering us vampirism, but... We're already vampires..." 

Harkon sighed at the other nord's statement. "You contracted a disease, perhaps, but you are no true vampire. Accept my gift, and I promise you will learn the difference. Refuse me, and I will banish you from this castle." He turned towards Laria, "It is more than a fair exchange, Laria. This is the power I offer." 

With that, bats swarmed and he took on the Vampire Lord form. "Make your choice."

"The choice is obvious." Laria said. Join them and have a base of operations and a way to get rid of the Dawnguard? She'd take it.

Ice-Breath looked on in awe, and clenched his fists. The choice really was obvious. But... Why? 

At first he thought it was because he had only to gain. Gain a place to stay, a group of people to rely on, and people to learn from..

But he could feel it. The raw power. And by the gods, he wanted it. More than anything. 

But - why did he want it? 

It didn't matter. 

"I accept your gift." He said. 

"Very well. Hold still." He lunged and bit Laria on the neck, and she collapsed. Ice-Breath felt a rush of fear as he did the same to him, and he blacked out.

She felt everything in a dull haze. The original virus was being attacked and destroyed by whatever gave Harkon his powers, and it wasn't much of a fight. Thinblood wasn't a misnomer. 

She was lying on the ground, face pressed into cold stone, and the chamber smelled like blood and death. She looked up, using her other senses more than her long-ruined eyes. There were piles of bones. There was an altar. There was the nord. There was a stranger.

The blur of an altar - one strangely familiar - drifted in front of Ice-Breath's vision. Despite his groggy awakening, a sort of energy rushed through him, and he shook the clouds from his mind. They seemed to be in some sort of... Chapel, littered with bones, a shrine to Molag Bal dripping with blood. A moment of fear hit him as he frantically looked around for his friend, but found her on the floor a few yards away.

Laria never remained prone for longer than necessary, even if she was injured-- fighting from the ground was harder than fighting on one’s feet, so if she had to fight she was going to use every advantage she had. It was dim, though that never really bothered her. Harkon looked pleased, observing them in a way that she wasn't sure leaned more towards 'prey' or 'recruit'.

"Good, you're finally awake." Harkon murmured with a grin. 

Ice-Breath got to his feet, trying to think of a one-liner or flirtatious comeback, but finding none. It was probably for the best... The man was Serana's father after all, and that could get weird fast.

Laria stood expectantly, waiting for a long winded explanation of power, his own power, and probably some ‘important mission’ for them to do.

And what they received was just that. Explanations, and a task to speak to one of the other members of the court, a dark elf.

As Harkon left, Ice-Breath looked at his hand, then up at Laria, took a deep breath, and felt the power rush through him as he took the vampire lord form. He needed to try it out.

If it involved shapeshifting it would either work or fail completely. So she attempted it. It failed. She tried again. It failed. She was as much a prey animal among beasts as she'd always been. It was just more pronounced now. So she was going to begin creating the same countermeasures she always did. It made sense, in a way. She couldn't access her magic in a strictly traditional sense, nothing she cast could be directed inward, so any restoration or alteration spells wouldn't work on herself. Everything had to focus outward, and changing a form was an inward process. If anything the nord had a handle on it, so she just needed to keep herself invaluable to him and a genuine threat to everyone else.

Ice-Breath cast a powerful drain spell from one clawed hand, at nothing in particular, as practice. In the other hand, a necromancy spell brewed... It seemed... Disrespectful to the dead, so he decided not to try it out. He landed and turned around to look at Laria, then caught a reflection of himself in a broken piece of glass, jumping back a bit. He was grotesque, but... That didn't matter. With the talons and spells he could- 

He sighed, a cloud of bats swarming him as he transformed back, then looked up at Laria with a confident, fang-filled grin. 

"This is awesome." He whispered.

Laria watched him work through his powers. She began making a list of potential options, the first being to find silver weapons and amulets. They'd burn her, but it was a necessary pain. She could fall in behind the nord, let him be the head, so if anyone decided he was a threat? Odds are they wouldn't know about her. Or they wouldn't see her as a potential problem, at the very least. It would work. She'd make it work. And if it didn't, absolutely no one would realize the threat she posed until she had ten inches of ebony in their chests.

Ice-Breath, entirely oblivious to the woman's scheming, began to nibble on his knuckles again, nervous. 

This was amazing but 

What had he gotten himself into? 

He was just a mercenary - and here was, now a member of one of the most powerful vampire clans in Tamriel. 

And if anything, he was even hungrier now. Could he really forego feeding for this long? Was it the added powers that took it out of him? He could smell the blood from the main halls, and he wondered if they'd let him- 

No, if he were to feed on one of the thralls now, he'd kill them. He didn't want to make Harkon angry at him and... If he was being honest. 

He felt bad for the mortals in cages. They moaned in a stupor, pleading for it to stop, begging to be set free. 

But a man's got to eat, right? 

He shook his head. "Can we still make a stop in Solitude? I'd like to get some more potions..."

Laria nodded sharply. From what she could tell, the high ranking vampires were in an arms race of power and information that she had no interest dealing with. Noble feuds had lost her interest a few centuries prior.

Ice-Breath sighed. "Alright. Let's go." 

He walked out of the room and into the hall, where on a bookshelf he spotted a tome, on an invisibility spell, it looked like. He took it and opened it up, trying to read as he walked. His reading was slow and he often found himself having to read a sentence or two over again, but he was getting there. 

"Laria, what's that word mean?" Ice-Breath asked, holding open a page and pointing at the word in question.

Laria stared at the word, glancing at the context and began signing, "It is 'discomfort'. The opposite of 'comfort', for example if I held a dagger to your throat you would most likely feel discomfort. It is an overarching feeling of unease, slight pain, and is drawn from the older words for distress." She said calmly.

"Okay, thanks" Ice-Breath said, no hint of surprise or alarm at her example, and went back to reading the tome. 

 

\--

 

By the time they reached Solitude, Ice-Breath had finished reading, and the book crumbled into dust. 

"It's so... Unsettling, how they do that." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

It was night, around 11 PM. If the residents weren't in the inn, they were asleep in their homes. The nord grew restless, chewing on his knuckles again. He would have to wait until morning for the shops to open, but he really didn't want to...

No... He needed a break. From people. From everything. He turned to Laria. 

"Hey, is it okay if I go my own way for an hour or two? I'll probably just be around the Winking Skeever. Might have a drink. But I'll be outside." The air was crisp, refreshing. He needed more of that right now.

Laria nodded, fully intent on getting into the Blue Palace, legally or otherwise. She probably should have mentioned that he shouldn't kill anyone else, but he'd probably do it out of spite any way. Maybe she could get information on the recently executed man on the way.

A man, a beggar, with raccoon eyes almost worse than Ice-Breath's, ran up to Laria, flailing frantically. "Please! You have to help me! My master has left me! Please help!" 

Laria shook him off, not interested in helping random servants, though the human hip bone she was handed made things a bit more unusual. She glanced at his eyes, the madness making a connection between actions and appearance. She shoved the bone in her bag, fully intending on never dealing with that. Sheogorath could leave her the fuck alone. Inside the palace there were a bare minimum of guards, all of whom noticed her entering with obvious suspicion. It made sense, it was well outside court hours, but she had a talent for vanishing.

 

The Skeever had been busy this evening, and the innkeeper, an imperial by the name of Corpulus, needed a breath of fresh air. 

"Sorex!" He called to his son, "I'll be just out back, manage the counter for me, will you?" Sorex groaned, but did as his father asked, and Corpulus exited, inhaling deeply. 

Another man seemed to have the same idea, leaning against the wall and looking at the stars. Although his frame was larger, his presence was almost silent, and Corpulus took a double take when he first spotted him. 

He decided that initiating conversation wasn't a good idea. They had both retreated here for quiet, after all. 

Ice-Breath glanced at the imperial. The company was fine, as long as he didn't try and interact with him. Not that he really had the energy to concentrate on interaction right now, as his whole being centered on keeping the thirst at bay. Was it because he stopped feeding when he was still a new blood? It kept getting worse and he had no idea what to do. 

It seemed to encompass his entire being, and had been his only thought when his mind lay idle, such as when they were traveling, or stopping to rest. The thought circled in his mind, repeating and repeating... But trying to think of something else never worked. He flicked his eyes towards the imperial, looking the man over- and that was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

 

Ice-Breath came to to the sound of a guard yelling, and when his vision settled, the scene looked much like the one in Riverwood, with the kid. He was completely covered in blood, but had little time to put together what had happened, as more guards came rushing to the scene. Quickly, he pulled his hood over his head, and his mind raced with what to do next. If they saw his face, he likely could never walk freely into the hold again. Wait, he had just learned the invisibility spell, but he hadn't tried it out- 

But it was his only chance, so he took it. 

He cast the spell and disappeared from sight entirely, running off and hoisting himself onto a roof as the guards scrambled to find him. 

It happened again. 

He knew that man, the imperial. He had an adult son, and a young daughter, no more than 10. No wife.

Now the kids were without a mother and a father. 

All because he refused to admit he was sick those few weeks ago. 

But gods 

It tasted so good- 

He dug his nails into his palms. 

He had killed an innocent man. He had murdered a child. None of this was excusable. 

The whole town, during the midnight hours, went on alert. Guards ran, frantic, angry, citizens stirred and peered out of their houses, much to the guards' dismay. Ice climbed farther up the roof. He was not built for such things, but he made it well enough. 

Not that he thought, in that moment, that he really deserved to escape. 

But he'd try anyway.

 

Laria heard screaming and could smell fear and blood.  She left the palace through a window after stealing more gold and books. She ran along the walls towards where a crowd was gathered, listening to the shouting. The scent of blood grew stronger and she had a good idea of what happened. She was going to throttle the fucking nord. Or slice his jugular. Break his fingers, pull his fangs out, rip out his toenails-- fucking nords and their fucking love of ignoring basic needs.

"L-laria?" a voice, low, with a heavy nord accent, floated from behind the elf. As the invisibility spell wore off, a disheveled and anxiety-riddled Ice-Breath appeared behind her, covered completely in blood and gore.  His red eyes trembled, frantic, and he was full on chewing on one of his fingers, an unhealthy outlet for the anxiety that encompassed him. "Laria, they saw me. I don't know if they saw my face, but- I, I blacked out and -"

Laria grabbed him by the throat, hoping the sheer rage she held was palpable. 

"You ignorant short sighted self destructive  _ fool _ ." She spat. "You get over that wall. Now. You get over that wall and you  _ run _ ." Her orders were quiet, rasped, and her focus was split between him and the guards on the ground. They'd be on the wall soon, that much was clear.

As she grabbed him by the throat, his anxious expression turned to one of pure anger, and he pushed her off of him, before looking back at her for a split second, his eyes expressing both fury and trust, then darting over the wall, doing exactly as she had instructed. 

And he ran.

She followed, her ankles and knees not appreciating the hard landing she took. She followed the nord away from the city, eyes and senses cast behind her to make sure they weren't followed. As soon as they were a ways away, preferably in the swamp, she'd have a-- talk.

Ice-Breath stopped at the edge of the swamp, near the border of Hjaalmarch, the blood drying over his figure. He rested his head against a tree, shoulders hunched, muscles tense, fury still surging.  His eyes threatened to tear over but he wouldn't allow himself to cry. There was a sort of... honor, in allowing oneself to be vulnerable and cry, but he couldn't do it in front of Laria. Not when she was around.  She'd see it as weakness, see him as pitiful -

Well, more pitiful than she already thought he was.

He roared and punched the tree, turning around to cover his eyes in hopes that would keep the threat of tears at bay.

"You are a mess." Laria spat. "Are you purposefully ignoring the requirement to feed or are you just incompetent?" She shook her head. "Weep if you must. But you will feed regularly. Your body screams for nutrients and you deny it, and this can go on no longer."

Anger boiled between his teeth, and he lifted his hand from his eyes, revealing  a glare of pure fury. 

"I-" his words trembled, not out of nerves, but rage "I-'m... I- Gods DAMMIT!  Fuck OFF! You always seem like you don't trust me, so you talk to me like I'm some sort of pit dog, telling me what to do, but how fucking coULD YOU trust me!?  I don't trust my fucking SELF! You want me to open up to you!? I'll tell you something really nice. Yeah, I WAS purposefully ignoring the requirement to feed? You want to know why?!  Because I didn't fucking ask for this! I was trying to fucking help - I thought, the sooner we got it done, the better. I didn't have time to be sick! People's LIVES were on the line! And now I'M the one killing them!  I'm a murderer, a monster, all because I was trying to help." He began to tremble "But do you want to know what the worst part about it is? The real reason I purposefully put off feeding? It's not because I used to be like them, or any of that rot. It's because - It's because I fucking like it!  I  _ like _ the power, I like when they struggle and resist and I still tear them to fucking pieces, I like when they have no hope left in their desperate, terrified, pitiful faces, and it’s- " The tears spilled "I-What's wrong with me?  I shouldn't feel like that and I - it wasn't the disease that made me like that it's - I just -" His voice died, and he gave up on finishing the sentence, letting it float into silence.

 

There were two breeds of people, as far as Laria was concerned. Predators and prey. It was a binary system long since rendered useless by the advancement of society, but it had been drilled into her and she found it often held true. Most people who moved towards robbing and murdering others for coin or instinctive need did so, heading for the wilds or the underworld. People like the nord, who fought those urges? Cunning callous politicians and sleazy merchants, all of them. But he felt regret. Why would he feel regret? Logically, she knew why. Most people weren't capable of mass murder, and if they did cause harm they felt awful about it. But for her? Second nature. Kill those who get in your way, or just ruin their lives however possible. But don't. Get. Caught. Leave no evidence, leave no traces. Attacking people in public brought eyes and suspicion, made guard rotations tighten, send communities into panic. Nothing could be done then, only moving on and waiting for the next time to strike. So here they were. 

And he admitted to enjoying the slaughter. 

Bandits were fine, they were fuel. And they bled red and begged for mercy just like everyone else. Though civilians were a more difficult hunt-- she could  _ ruin _ him. She could mention the man he met in Whiterun, dangle that potential loss of control and subsequent death over him like so many bad memories. Though she didn't want to be attacked by someone who could actually use his lord form. So she didn't use that option. 

"People's lives are always on the line. They always hang in a balance between life and death, and all they need is a tap in one direction for their courses to be altered." Laria said. "We are all monsters, Ice-Breath. Some of us are simply able to regulate and reign in our natures." She shook her head. "I care not who lives and who dies. However, public slaughter breeds questions and investigations. The Dawnguard will learn of this, and their patrols will shift. The guards will change their routes. Word will be sent to other holds. The child and the man will be linked by methods, and vampire hunters will increase in number. So do what you must to  _ survive _ ." She spat the last sentence, keeping three feet between them and open paths into the swamps on all sides should he attack her.

Ice-Breath seemed to have calmed, still brooding, and looking down, refusing eye contact. Part of him wanted to yell at her further, about how it wasn't all about logic, how feeling could also be fuel. Had she never felt loss?  Had she never grieved? He had murdered a father. Two children were left in sorrow. All because of him. 

Did she not realize he had just lost a parent too?

He had lost her in death, as he had lost her in life. 

But he knew that now was not the time - if there ever was one.  He shouldn't have exploded as he had, said what he did. She knew... too much about him.  He trusted her, but he wasn't sure... he wasn't sure he should. 

"I... Don't know if they saw my face.  If they did, I'll be hunted in all nine holds.  If not... It will just be a vampire attack. Unless... The Dawnguard prove to be good bloodhounds.  If they sniff me out.... " He fell to silence. How pitiful she must think he was. How miserable, useless. "Bandits. If I can get bounties on bandits, I can... I'll...." His face warped into a terrifying grin as his eyes glazed over, but that expression quickly fell, and he stepped back, almost in fear of himself. 

"I want... to talk to Torvar." he murmured.

She ignored the potential to ruin his life. So she nodded slowly. 

"All right. But you feed on the way. Any bandit we come across you kill." She wasn't sure why she never truly became blood starved and feral. If anything, it was an aspect of the curse. She didn't feel hungry or thirsty, and that apparently went for blood as well. All the better.

Ice-Breath nodded, almost bitterly, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he began to walk. 

 

On the way, he replaced his bloodstained armor with some he picked off of a feral vampire who lay dead in the snow.  If he was being honest, the vampire armor looked nice on him.... Probably too nice. He hoped nobody in the cities would recognize who wore this type of armor... 

As he walked through the gates to Whiterun, he looked up at Dragonsreach. 

"I have... something I need to do." He told Laria, and ran off. His timing was awful, as just as he left, a certain nord, blond hair tied back, bottle of mead in hand, sauntered over. "Hey lady!" he said to Laria, his face flushed from drink, beaming. "Where's Ice?"

She stared at him, not entirely sure who he was. "He wandered off. He tells me nothing, so I have no way to tell where he is going." She said. There was a faint scent of dog on him, similar to how someone sitting near smoke would smell of smoke.

"'Aight, guess I'll wait 'til he gets back." Torvar said, "You're always with 'im so I thought I'd ask you." He reached into his bag and brought out a bottle of mead, holding it out to the woman. "Name's Torvar. Ice-Breath told me yours I think. Said it was Larry or somethin'."

She took the mead, staring forward as he fucked up her name. "It is Laria." Was all she said before taking a drink.

"Oh, er- yeah! Sorry about that, uh... 'Area'..." He said, and took a gulp of his own drink. They stood there in silence before, as if out of the blue, Torvar asked "do you think he's single?"

"I know for a fact that he struggles with any interpersonal communication, Torvo. He's single." She told him.

"Really? He talks good enough with me." Torvar said, taking a drink. "I wonder if I should ask him out.

"You should ask him out, Toronto. Or in. Preferably somewhere with good air circulation." She drank again.

Torvar furrowed his brow, his intoxicated mind not quite understanding. "Or in? What? And what does air gotta do with anything?"

"Being outside is often an issue for him. Air circulation is for the incredible stench your mead-soaked self is giving off, Toto." Laria said calmly.

"Oh yeah! He said he had some sort of 'light-sensitivity' thing. Don't know what that's about but eh-... Hey! I don't smell that bad!" He said, before looking down and sniffing himself, "...well okay, I do smell that bad but... Hey, you don't want me to ask him out, do you?"

"I don't want you to do anything, Tori." Laria said. "It is up to you, ultimately. Ask him out, lope back to your hall like a lovesick pup, it doesn't affect me." She shrugged. "If it would make him do something else for several hours, so much the better."

Torvar took a sip of his drink, "yeah, he did mention you were kind of an ass, Laryngitis." He shook his head "Well, next time I see 'im, I'll ask him out, either way.

"Good." She handed him his bottle back.

Torvar took it and sauntered off. "See ya later, Smellia!" 

A few minutes later, Ice-Breath returned. Lydia was following him. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a key towards Laria.

She caught it. "Your boy is incapable of pronouncing my name." She told him before glancing at the key. "Why do I have this."

"Torvar!? You saw him!? Where-" the nord began, excited, before remembering that there were more pressing matters at hand. "I bought a small house in the city. I don't intend on living there, but I'm hoping we can set it up as sort of a base between holds. Store important items, sleep without stopping at an inn, planning out our next moves...."

She nodded slowly, eyeing Lydia. "And your housecarl?" She asked.

"Lydia will be staying there." He said. Lydia glared at Laria before heading off on her own towards Breezehome.

Laria casually flipped her off. "Totodile is heading back up to the dog house. He's going to ask you out. Also he's drunk." Laria signed.

Ice-Breath, once again, would have blushed, if he were able. "He- he is?" He stopped, his eyes growing wide, his mind flashing back to ripping the innkeeper to shreds, and he froze.

She noticed it. "Where were you? Before now."

"Dragonsreach?" He said, confused as to her question "That's where I bought the base."

She nodded slowly. "And you are certain you don't need to feed." Namira save her, she didn't want to be this nord's caretaker.

He rolled his eyes "What're you, my mom? No I don't need to feed. I killed three bandits on the way over, remember?"

"Believe me when I say that if something like you crawled from my womb and announced itself as my child, I would have destroyed it on instinct. No, I'm hoping you don't tear a third person apart in a blood frenzy." Laria snapped.

Ice-Breath flipped her off. "Well I'm going to... talk to Torvar...." he bit his knuckles, but headed towards Jorrvaskr.

"Don't eat any one." Laria said offhandedly. "Unless they're into that." She added and headed for the house.

Ice-Breath wandered towards Jorrvaskr.  Luckily, he didn't have to get to close, as Torvar was sitting on the steps.

"Hey, Ice!" Torvar called, getting up, and walking over. "Hey, I have something I wanna ask ya.  Are you seein' anybody? 'cause if not -" 

Ice-Breath gave him a grin "Yes, Torvar, I'll go out with you." 

Torvar's eyes widened. "Really!?"  

"Fuck yeah." Ice-Breath replied with a chuckle.

 

Laria opened the door to the house, looking at the sparse furnishings and moving on through. There was one bed, which was going to be an issue, though she probably wouldn't be sleeping there any way.

After the conversation with Torvar, Ice-Breath made his way to Breezehome, assuming Laria would be there. He walked in and sighed in relief as the shade hit him.

 

Laria found the alchemy room and immediately set up shop, dumping out her books and the assorted ingredient vials. Her equipment went on the floor next to her, and she began mixing potions.

Hearing movement from the other room, he headed over, seeing Laria at an alchemy station. 

"How can you stand that? Mixing potions bores me entirely."

She didn't look over at him. "That sounds like a personal problem." She finished distilling a healing potion and downed it. It would scab over the issues with her throat for a while.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He sat down on the floor and began polishing his sword with a cloth.

"Is the housecarl a threat." Laria asked as she began brewing poisons.

Ice-Breath glanced up at Laria. "I... don't know.  I haven't... spoken to her since...Potentially, she could be."

"Then why is she here." Laria said flatly. She began distilling the crushed components, it was a hands-off section of brewing, and would take several minutes.

The nord glared. "Because, if she becomes a problem, we'll deal with it in that moment. Without proof of ill intent, to do anything against her would be wrong. And I-" he shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand, but there's something I like about her.  I want to count her as a friend." 

Little did they know that the housecarl was sitting upstairs, listening through the floor at their conversation.

She snorted. "This is how people die. You don't know her intentions, we don't know her motives, and I will not be held responsible for when she puts a sword in your chest."

His glare continued. "I can handle myself in combat if the need arises. Don't try and tell me that I can't." He sighed, "Look, I know you only speak in terms of logic, so, in logical terms, if I can count her as a friend, she'd be an asset.  She has the potential to be worth more to us alive than dead." He then went on to mutter "not that I think worth should be counted like that, but..."

Laria flicked her ears. "That is the only way worth is measured. That and with money."

"Someone with little worth to you may be worth everything to someone else." he murmured, glaring at Laria as he stood up, heading upstairs. As he was about to walk out of the doorway of the alchemy room, he found Lydia standing in the way. 

"Lydia!" he said in surprise.  He hadn't heard her. Glancing back at Laria, he murmured "Hey, Lyds, uh... Look, I have a contract on some bandits I got from Hulda. Would you be willing to accompany me?"

It didn't matter what anyone else thought. People who used emotions instead of logic and reason when making decisions ended up dead. She knew that he was right, in a sense, but she doubted she'd ever understand it. She bottled the poison, wanting nothing more than to continue with her work.

It didn't matter how much "worth" Laria thought Lydia had. People who used only logic instead of weaving emotion into their decisions ended up dead.  With no one to support them in their pursuits, survival was only a word, empty actions with no reason for them to exist. 

As he and Lydia left the city walls and headed into the planes, the housecarl had taken the lead, and he... he wanted to talk.  He grabbed her by the shoulder, and she spun around, shield up, sword pointed.

The alchemy lab would hold no use for the nord, or the housecarl. So it would fall into Laria's possession by default. It was simple to setup, easy to defend, and the bookshelf had enough room for all her books. The spellbooks had no use outside of paperweights and flat places to stack things, so unless the nord showed any interest in them, that was the purpose they would serve.

Ice-Breath stepped back slowly, noticeably upset, his eyes almost looking innocent in their fear. 

He wasn't afraid she would hurt him. If she tried, he knew he could defend himself. He was afraid- 

What was he afraid of?

"I-I'm sorry-" he whispered, his voice hoarse as tears welled up in his red eyes.  Lydia's own eyes widened and her stance relaxed, if only somewhat. "I'm sorry." he repeated, as he started biting at his hands again. 

And that's all that needed to be said.  Words were useless when communication had already been established.  

Lydia lowered her weapons and looked at her thane with an expression of sympathy. Slowly, she moved closer and, gently, removed his hand from his teeth, and held it within hers. 

"You have to stop doing that... my thane." She said, "Let's go deal with those bandits, okay?" 

He couldn't make eye-contact, but nodded, and they continued forward.

 

Sharpen the daggers. Check the bowstring. Look at the potion reserves. Sometimes she regretted the choices she'd made, when emotion outweighed reason. She had that problem with most people, if she was being honest. Though she was rarely honest when it came right down to it. She could always trace her issues back to one source, like many people. She just knew that everything after that had been her doing, not something like the source having supernatural control over her every action.

Influence, yes, but never control.

 

When Ice-Breath and Lydia returned, the man had bandages wrapped around his hands.  It around one in the morning, and although it was the time he preferred to be awake, he knew the steward at Dragonsreach likely didn't feel the same way. He'd collect the bounty in the morning.  

Lydia still seemed... uncomfortable around him.  But it wasn't as bad as the glares and look of utter disgust she had given him before.  There seemed to be a sort of understanding... and that's all he needed. 

He sighed, sitting down on the ground and fiddling with his bandages.

Laria had begun looking over her notes. A whole lot of entries on nordic folklore, history and burial practices, preceded by a long list of information on daedra. It was nowhere near comprehensive to an outside observer, but unless she somehow found a publisher that would print books on nordic barrows written by a dark elf, she didn't really care. She knew what she was talking about.

Noticing a few things had been set out, Ice-Breath furrowed his brow and went to check in the alchemy room. There it seemed Laria had spread out her things - and he noticed a hip bone slipping out of her bag.  That wouldn't seem too weird, not for Laria, but it was much cleaner than any of the other body parts she seemed to collect. 

"Where'd you get that?" He said, pointing to the hip.

"Some Sheogorath worshipper in Solitude. Wanted me to bring his master back." Laria signed. She had exactly zero interest in dealing with that specific prince. "When are we going to deal with Karthspire?"

Ice-Breath raised an eyebrow. "How can a Daedric Prince disappear? Karthspire? I don't know, whenever we're ready to deal with it, I guess."

"Never said he disappeared, the man simply stopped speaking with him." Laria signed. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather deal with the Karthspire situation sooner rather than later."

"Fine then. Karthspire it is. When do we leave?" He asked.

"Right now." She said.

The nord sighed. "Fine. After you." 

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again in the krispy kvatch  
> maybe that would work later but i thought of it now so there --e

It wasn't the best time of day for an attack. The middle of the morning was not really something most armies worked towards operating during. But that was the time they'd arrived. The current downpour was alleviating most of the mid morning issues by obscuring the sun and everything around them.

"Dammit, those weird breton barbarians are staked out here." Ice-Breath hissed, looking across the mass of wood and tents.

"Those are called Forsworn. Formerly known as Forsworn." Laria said and then corrected herself. "Right now they're known as 'prey'."

Ice-Breath chuckled and cracked his knuckles. "I'm ready when you are."

Laria leapt from her perch, landing softly and then rushing up to tear open a Forsworn's throat. She took a moment and then kicked off the boots, rushing forward in her footwraps and biting into a woman's throat.

Ice charged forward, moving ahead of Laria, dodging arrows. He had gone back to dual wielding, as he had a chance to craft another sword whilst in Whiterun. He slashed a forsworn in half, revealing an archer a few feet away. With a roar he tore forward, decapitating the woman as an arrow flew past his ear. He stopped, seeing no more enemies in front of him, but he heard the clink of a weapon being drawn behind him. Turning, he faced a man with a flower where his heart should be...

He smirked. Now this was interesting.

There was a dead man somewhere nearby. That was strange, unknown-- and when she turned there was a scent of moss and old dirt in a fleshy cage. It wasn't any less natural than raising the dead, but the man was still alive, meaning magic and organ replacement happened while he was alive. She needed to figure out how that worked. She'd have to start by killing the woman-bird currently throwing ice spells at her.

The Briarheart ran forward, an axe in each hand, and as he slashed at the nord, he dodged. Ice spun behind the Briarheart and swiped at him as well - but the briarheart's ears picked up the sound and he jumped away. Ice-Breath growled, and ran forward, no hesitation, and grabbed the Forsworn by the head. He twisted him around and slammed him into the ground, placing his foot on the man's back. 

"Enhanced hearing, huh? I wonder... How would that work without ears?" He said with a grin and dug the tip of his sword into the base of the man's cartilage. The Briarheart screamed.

Laria didn't hesitate in her approach, simply slicing open the harpy's throat and letting the corpse fall to the side.

Ice-Breath made sure to go slow as he slit off the briarheart's ear. As it loosened, he plucked it off and dangled it in front of the man's face. Of course, he continued to scream. By this time, all the Forsworn were dead, leaving only this one alive in the area.

Laria could hear the screams and smell the blood, and since Forsworn didn't have anything that interested her on them, the current torture of a briarheart was infinitely more fascinating. Hopefully she'd be able to figure out how they worked before the nord killed him.

Ice kicked the man onto his other side, tossing the dismembered ear over his shoulder and starting on the other before stopping abruptly - what- 

What was he doing? 

Laria crouched down next to the man's head, watching. "If you're going to leave it, I'd rather you not kill it just yet. I need to see how these things work." If anything she knew how to figure out how a body worked. One had to, to raise the dead properly. Then it turned into a hunt for more information on how the body worked in general, and now she knew what arteries went where and how the eyeballs connected to the brain.

Ice growled, angry, slit off the briarheart's other ear with a smooth, quick slice, and sat himself down on the edge of the wood below. He wouldn't whine about it anymore. He was sure Laria had had enough of his doing that lately. But by the gods, if he didn't want to strangle himself right now...

Laria rolled the man over, taking more glee in his utter terror than was strictly necessary. 

"First I suppose I must ask, how do your plant-hearts work?" She asked. No need to waste time and life when the subject could answer the question. Of course he'd just had his ears cut off so that probably wouldn't work.

"The old gods-- they taught the hagravens how to strengthen their warriors-- trading our human hearts for the briarhearts makes us stronger!" The man said loudly.

Ice-Breath winced at the volume of the briarheart's voice, but looked up to where they were headed. His heart fell through his chest, and he hoped to any god that would listen that the Blades had not witnessed that. But if they had... Perhaps they wouldn't treat him as if he were less than them.

The Briarheart kept talking, eyes on the sky as Laria still crouched by his head, staring down at him. The smile she wore was soft, the kind she used to calm people down and drop their guard. 

"You... you got what you wanted. You'll let me go, right?"

"Of course." Laria said quietly and stabbed him in the throat.

Ice-Breath cringed as he saw the two peering over near where they were supposed to meet. How much had they seen? 

He went to bite his hands, but his bandages got in the way, so he settled for curling into himself, clutching his hair near the scalp.

Laria stood up, staring the two observers down. She couldn't tell what their expressions were, nor could she smell the emotions from that distance.

"What if they saw... What if... What did I..." Ice began to mumble to no one in particular... But if anyone had an answer, he'd take it. He'd take any right now.

"You cut the ears off a man prone on the ground." Laria stated factually. "We are all monsters, nord." She said quietly, not looking away from the Blades. "Some simply take longer to realize their role. You are finding yours."

"So you're telling me that my role, in this whole entire lifetime, that is apparently never going to end, is to rip off the ears of helpless men?" He said, his voice hoarse "oh, and I guess I also have a role slaughtering children and innocents, huh?"

"There are predators and there are prey. As it stands, I am the apex predator. As it stands, you are growing in your own role. So stop agonising over your actions and go talk to the Blades before they come down here." Laria snapped.

Ice glared at her, but did as she said. Well, the getting up and going to talk to the Blades part, at least. The agonising didn't stop, it just became silent. 

"Took you two long enough..." Delphine said, crossing her arms. Esbern kept his distance.

"There were several other issues." Laria said.

Delphine sighed. "Okay, well, let's get in there as soon as possible, then."

Once inside, Esbern spoke up. "The Akaviri were known to put traps and puzzles into their architecture. We'll have to be very.... Careful." He gave the two Dragonborn a concerned glance.

Ice nodded, but his mind seemed elsewhere, his red eyes glassy as he pooled over Laria's words.

The Akaviri were a group she'd never been familiar with. Ask her anything about the Ayleids and she could deliver a speech, but she knew little about the Akaviri. So finding the carvings and statues meant she'd learn a whole lot more soon.

Delphine headed inside first, followed by Esbern. Ice wandered after mindlessly. 

After running through a number of puzzles, most of which Ice was little help with, they came upon a large face-shaped door with a blood seal. 

"It needs blood to open... The blood of either one of you." Esbern said, gesturing to the seal. 

Ice sighed, and before Laria could act, he began unwrapping the bandages around one of his hands, then sliced his palm with a dagger he had picked up at one point, allowing the blood to drizzle into the crevices in the stone.

Laria had no real interest in opening up her own skin in an unknown ritual, so if the nord wanted to potentially tie himself to some tomb that was fine by her. He did that a lot apparently. As long as he actually rewrapped the bandages she didn't really care.

Standing back up, he put the bandage in his bag without really thinking, followed by the dagger. The door trembled to life and pulled back, revealing a staircase. The Blades seemed in awe, likely excited that they were able to see an old temple of their order.

Laria was the first one through, intent on finding carvings and documents. The staircase up was covered in cobwebs, and she pushed through the door into a dark chamber.

"There it is! Alduin's wall." Esbern exclaimed, rushing in after the elf. He began rambling about the symbols, and Delphine looked just about as impatient as Ice felt. 

"Okay, does it tells us how to defeat Alduin?" She asked, crossing her arms. 

"Yes! A Shout." 

"A Shout? Which Shout?" 

"I don't... I don't know." 

"Do either of you know?" 

"Maybe the Greybeards do..." Ice murmured. 

She sighed. "I was hoping not to have to involve them, but you're right. You should go ask them, I'm sure they'd be willing to help  _ you _ ."

Laria ignored the pointed words. If Delphine harboured jealousy masked by animosity, that was her problem. She'd prefer to spend more time examining the walls, but the last time she'd done that she'd spent 200 years documenting one barrow.

Delphine gestured to Laria and Ice, pulling them towards a more isolated area of the temple, away from Esbern's rambling. 

"Before we go any further, I need to know your intentions." She looked sternly at them both. "Why are you helping us? Is it to stop Alduin, or... Something else?"

_ Why are you doing this? _ She'd been asked so many times, and this marked the second time it wasn't because she was murdering or torturing someone. The first time had been in the evening in the Blades' fortress, Rin asking questions. At the end of the day she had only one real answer for what she did, boiling down to 'survival'. Across everything, survival was why she acted. It was why she helped translate demonic texts, it was why she fought back daedra. The short term consequences were dangerous, but long term? Guaranteed survival.

"I'd rather not watch the world die." Laria said. "So yes, it is because of Alduin." She didn't add the part where as soon as she no longer needed them she'd be gone.

Delphine sighed. "I suppose it just doesn't look that good when the people tasked with saving the world are caught needlessly torturing a man. Both of them." 

So they had seen. 

Ice began to speak before thinking. "No! I-" but he cut himself off. They didn't want to hear it, and he didn't want to appear as some sort of milkdrinker. He began biting the hand that was no longer in bandages again. Oh gods- he couldn't take this anymore--

Laria snorted. "I expect you to still do your jobs. The Blades still work to protect and serve the Dragonborn, do they not?" She wasn't about to apologise for her actions. She probably had no idea how to, but the intention still stood.

Crossing her arms, Delphine nodded. "Of course. Except in a few circumstances, but we don't need to go over those right now. I just needed to know if there's any reason I should have to put up extra defenses around you two." She glanced at Ice and sighed. "Why are you doing that?"

Extra defenses-- cages. Cellars. Walls. Iron bars, locked doors, spikes and traps and swords pointing inwards, she was still prey, after everything  _ still a beast needing containment _ \--

She took a breath. Then another. And then another. Calm, collected. Outward distress meant advantages. She was resolute. She had to be resolute.

Ice-Breath looked down, eyes hollow. He was the type of person that needed to be defended against, it seemed, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to be. 

What had happened to him. 

He glanced over at Laria, and although she appeared calm outwardly, there was something about her that was tense. It seemed she didn't like that answer anymore than he did. 

"Hey," he murmured "Let's head to Markarth, stock up on supplies, huh?" Perhaps leaving the area would make her feel better. 

That was his only idea. It was in these moments that he could see she had emotions beyond disdain and arrogance. But he had no idea how he could help her deal with them. He didn't even know how to deal with his own.

She left quickly, tension building until she stood in the center of the road breathing heavily and staring forward. 

"I have been in cages. I have been in cells. I have been in tombs, behind walls, in pits-- I am something to be defended against-- but you put up walls to keep the monster out, not  _ in _ . Inside the monster may escape. And it will rip everyone apart who ever wronged it." The words fell out quickly, spoken to no one. She turned to the nord. "Put your damn bandages on before you bleed everywhere." It was harsher than she'd really hoped, and she didn't expect him to do so.

Ice stepped back. This had been... The most she had revealed to him since they had met, and it had only been a few sentences, not about her past, or her opinions... But it said more than just what had been spoken. 

He paused, wondering if it really was a good idea to ask the question that was on his tongue. 

It wasn't, but he decided to ask anyway. 

"Why do you... Why do you say you're a monster? Why do you say you're the apex predator? There has to be a reason you're-" stopping, he looked down, beginning to wrap his hand back up.

It had to be spoken at some point. "I have no idea how many I have killed." She said. "Not simply those who would attack me. Innocents. Civilians. Nobles, merchants, families. It is a hunt, what I do. It is my job. I have slaughtered hundreds. And when I was not needed to carry out the weak-willed's vengeance? I cut open others. To find out how they worked. Elves and men are only different in outward appearance, did you know? I know. Because I slit open a hundred people who begged for mercy. I am the beast that is sicced on others. I am the apex predator because I am  _ alive _ . I am successful, and those who hired me knew that I would not stop till I had completed my task." Laria finished, drinking deeply from her waterskin.

Ice looked her over - he had known, to an extent, but... He bit his lip. "Why?" 

And what he really wanted to know was... How did she feel no guilt? His own conscience was driving him.... Mad... And he'd only killed but two innocents...

"Did your parents care for you?" It was a simple question, easily answered in one word. "Did you have emotional value to them, not simply what worth you could give them?" It always had to begin that way, a question. After came an explanation. And every time she was greeted with choruses of denial, horror, and insistence that they loved her, in their way. She wasn't sure whether or not they were aware of the lies when they spoke them.

Ice thought of his ma. Did he have emotional value to her? Really and truly? She cared for him, fed him, acted as a mother should... But there were the poisonous words she would spew.., when she was angry, when she was drunk... And he didn't know which was real or not. 

It wasn't an answer given with only one word, and he figured that Laria... Didn't really care. He bit his lip- 

"I'm... I'm guessing your parents didn't care for you?"

"I was created for a purpose." Laria said, beginning to walk towards Markarth. "And I fulfilled that purpose. When I ceased to fulfil it I was thrown out. I had no allies, and as it stands I was never taught empathy or compassion. There is nothing for me save conservation of resources that moves anywhere near those traits. You wonder why I act without emotion, it is because I cannot act with emotion. You call me a friend, I have no understanding of that term outside of what it means and what I've seen. So it may be that we are friends, but I have no way to tell. As to why I act this way? It is what I was taught. Some heal. Some hurt. Some wreak utter destruction and bring nothing but pain upon others. I know where I fall and I have long since accepted it." She said.

Ice-Breath walked alongside her, silent. What could he say that didn't sound like some silly, naïve schmuck told within the pages of children's stories? He wanted to tell her that she could begin to learn emotion, that she wasn't stuck with the fate she was dealt, that he saw something in her, that he knew there was something there- 

But he ended up muttering, simply, 

"I'm sorry."

Apologies for something that had long since occurred-- she knew it was a trait most possessed.  _ A sharing of sympathy. _

"Apologies do nothing, nord. It is done." She said.

"... Just because you don't know what you're missing, it doesn't mean you aren't missing it." He murmured. 

He didn't want to direct the conversation towards him, but... But he felt as if, with her last statement, Laria was done... 

"You... Before, you said your role was to be the 'apex predator.' That you knew your role well and that... and that, I was... growing into mine.  What-... what then, is mine?" He looked at her, eyes wide, asking for honesty.

Incessant questions about morality from a nord--  _ where had she dealt with that before _ ? That thought was sarcastic, she knew exactly who he reminded her of. The thought was bitter in her mouth.

"Your role seems to be one to hurt. Either you mentioned what you did and I decided to ignore it or you never told me, either way you are fit for the role of a killer. Vampires are predators. Men are often predators. Everyone takes something from another, it's how the world works. And everyone has a role. Yours is to cause hurt. You already enjoy the hunting, the slaughter. What comes between, when you draw the pain out, that is what separates those who cause hurt and those who wreak havoc on society. In Cyrodiil and High Rock there were many of the third kind. They were just members of noble houses and politicians." She laughed. "It would seem that you are not suited for using your tongue to destroy, instead using your hands and teeth." It was simple for her, to see where people fell on her constructed continuum. And he fell at the far end, next to her.

He trusted her judgement. This whole time, he had.  He didn't know why he had, but.... perhaps it was her age.  Perhaps it's because he had always been the one making mistakes, and all of her plans were practically flawless... But this- 

Was she correct in this? 

If he wasn't going to believe her, why did she ask? 

"What if-" he whispered "What if I don't want to hurt?"

"Then you pick an option that doesn't hurt, and you hold the strength and resolve to follow through." She said harshly. Weak wills and broken promises collapsed empires, no one knew that better than her. "If you don't want to hurt anyone, then you keep yourself in check. Though I doubt that would stay your hand for long, given your track record." It was blunt, and cruel, but she had no issues with her words, she herself was blunt and cruel.

Was it will, or was it inherent? It didn't take long to see the hypocrisy in the elf's words. She seemed not to be one to follow rules, traditions. She did whatever needed to be done to keep her alive. 

Yet, how had she not yet seen that without emotion, one truly couldn't survive? 

There had to be some sort of reason she would do something good for someone, beyond mutual assistance... 

Given these two things, why hadn't she rebelled against what her uncaring parents tried to teach her?  Why hadn't she gone out afterwards, in these long years of living, and learned what it was to be compassionate? To care for the wellbeing of someone else, just to do so? 

Was he weak willed? No.  He wasn't. He refused to believe it.  If he wanted something dead, it'd be dead.  If he wanted something stolen, he'd steal it.  If he wanted somebody saved, they'd be - 

........ It wasn't his  _ will _ that was lacking.  It was his control. 

But... He'd prove her wrong.  He wouldn't be a predator, or prey. He'd be a protector.... Of the poor, of the ill, of the innocent.  If he had to kill and steal to protect them, then that's what he'd do. And he was all the stronger that way.

 

The large, golden doors of Markarth loomed ahead.

Laria could pick up everyone's scent, noting how several of the citizens smelled more of blood and human flesh than others.

"There is a woman here I wish to see. I would count it a close personal favor if you did not kill her in a fit of bloodlust." Laria said calmly, heading for the inn.

"I make no promises." Ice mumbled, a little irritated at her comment - 

waIT 

WAIT 

Laria cared about someone!?

"Whoa WHOA whoa slow down, slow down - who is this woman?"

Laria stopped walking before registering that he wanted clarification and not for her to pause her movements. "She is Muiri, an alchemist's assistant who called upon the Dark Brotherhood to remove the man who ruined her life. We went out to dinner when I had done as she requested." She said casually.

Ice breath chuckled and held up his hands "Okay hold up, so you went to DINNEr with this girl?  As in, she went to dinner with YOU? Oh my gods, you have a lady-friend. " He laughed outwardly now "LAria found a ladY-FRIEND! What!? oh my gods you have a lady-friend this is... You actually got someone to like you? What's next, flying horkers?"

"Says the man dating the drunk who smells like dog." Laria told him.

"Hate to have to tell ya princess but that 'drunk who smells like dog' is dating another drunk who mutilates people by accident so we're at least on each other's level. You on the other hand... Who would stoop so low?" He hoped she knew he was kidding. She had better know he was kidding, if not, he may have to sleep with one eye open.

Only a woman already broken by abandonment and betrayal would even look at her with anything resembling kindness. That was obvious, and was truly telling that so far only a kidnapping assassin and a woman requiring a murder had indulged her flirtatious overtures.

"I am no princess, boy." Laria snapped, and walked away into the inn.

He rolled his eyes "Yes, Laria, that's what I've been trying to say." he replied, but followed her inside. 

The inn was too loud, the people too boisterous. She watched the man in hide armor drink a whole bottle of wine in thirty seconds to a cheering clump of people. She elbowed the nord. "He's always trashed, he's just your type." She walked away, towards the quieter private rooms where Muiri would be.

Ice chuckled "You're right about that." he said, and cracked his knuckles, making his way over to the man and sitting next to him. 

"I'll take a bottle of mead." He said to the innkeep, but he kept finding himself glancing towards the rooms where Laria had gone.  Was there really a woman that she was seeing? Once he paid for the mead, he popped off the cork and took a drink, contemplating going over there, just to see... he would have no excuse to do so, but...

Laria found Muiri inside, and she greeted the dark elf warmly. They sat at the table, Laria constantly looking back at the closed door. 

"Hey, no one's going to attack us. I'm not a Forsworn target, and you're more than capable of killing anyone who tries anything.” Laria smiled slightly and nodded.

Cosnach turned to Ice. "Hey, 100 septims says you can't beat me in a fistfight." 

Ice, while in the middle of taking a sip of his mead, raised an eyebrow. He removed the bottle from his lips and smirked "You're on." 

The brawl ended quickly, with Cosnach on the floor.

Was it cheating to have vampiric strength? 

Probably. 

But Cosnach looked up at him and grinned.  "That's the best brawl I've had in a looooooong time."  

The crowd that had been watching Cosnach drink when they entered had grown considerably with the brawl, and Ice found himself quickly overwhelmed. He took the coins, shook the man's hand with a confident grin, and slipped off to the room where Laria was supposed to be. 

He peered his head in through the door. "Hey-"

Laria hissed loudly and drew her daggers, lunging for the opening door. Muiri grabbed her arm and held her back, intent on waiting to see who it was before striking.

"Molag's Ballsack, Laria!" Ice whispered between his teeth, jumping back, "It's just me! I'm not gonna hurt anybody!" he rolled his eyes "There's a lot of people out there, a crowd.  I was gonna ask if I could chill in here with you guys, but would you feel more comfortable if I guarded the door from the non-existent dangers you seem so up in arms about?"

Laria growled, still tense, but pointed at the corner on the other side of the room for him to sit in.

"Yeah yeah whatever." He said, taking a big gulp of his mead, and went where she pointed. "Oh shit, hey!  You must be Laria's lady-friend" he said as he walked past Muiri. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you!"

Muiri took his hand and gripped it tightly, just shy of threatening. "I'm Muiri." She said. "Its nice to meet you." She glanced back at Laria, who was focused on putting as much roast in her mouth as possible.

Ice-Breath's smile remained, but with how tight she gripped his hand, his eyes became somewhat suspicious. "I'm Ice-Breath. Just Ice-Breath." he said before he sat back down, reached into his bag, and began scribbling something on a book of empty parchment.

Laria ignored him, returning to speaking quietly but using the bit of breton she knew. Muiri responded in nordic. 

"He's an idiot, just ignore him." Laria said. 

"Don't worry, I am."

Ice-Breath kept scribbling, not sure what Laria was trying to say, probably a language from High Rock or Elseweyr that he didn't know.

They kept talking, still using two different languages. Muiri glanced at the nord. 

"What are you doing?" She asked.

Ice looked up in surprise, as he had zoned out completely, and said "Uh... I'm  uh... doing a thing...."

Muiri nodded slowly and turned back to Laria, who was staring at him, expressionless.

What Ice  _ had _ been doing was drawing.  He was out of practice, and only had the quill that was in the room to work with, but... On the page was a picture of Torvar, a work in progress, of the man laughing. The nord sighed as and was about to go back to finishing it, when he noticed Laria looking at him. 

"What?"

Laria shook her head, turning back to Muiri. At least he wasn't talking. Though she was often glad when people weren't talking.

Ice finished the drawing, took one look at it, sighed, ripped it out of the book, and let it flutter to the ground. It was face up, but he didn't expect the other two to care enough to look, so he didn't care enough to hide it. 

Laria glanced to the side, looking at the drawing. It wasn't bad, and it wasn't good. The only painter she'd ever known used an enchanted brush to go inside his own paintings, and while she was fairly sure achieving the depth required for masterworks could be gained through other methods, he was an okay person. He paid well.

It looked like a portrait, done from memory, and she noticed it was the drunk companion he hung out with. Muiri seemed more intrigued than her.

Ice-Breath started at another drawing, but glanced up as the other two seemed distracted. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Who is that?" Muiri asked curiously. Laria took another drink, still aware of the door.

"Oh-uh," he would have blushed, if it was still possible, "that's Torvar."

"A partner?" She pressed. Laria noted that part of her, a sharp refined focus to anything that interested her. She knew it with the questions, needle-sharp and just as penetrating as her words put holes in others' defenses. She'd make a good speaker, a woman to raise armies and scatter enemies with words alone. From the detached sense of self she had Laria knew that was something she admired about the woman.

Ice nodded. "Yeah..." He made a note that he should probably visit Whiterun soon. 

Maybe he'd bring a gift with him. What would Torvar like? Maybe some Black-Briar Reserve. He could go and steal some now if he wanted....

Muiri obviously restrained herself from asking more questions, turning back to Laria and returning to their conversation. "Apparently the Hall of the Dead is closed, the Silverbloods are furious. And there's a Vigilant of Stendarr investigating a house here, asking about Daedra." Muiri said. Laria's ears twitched, already working through explanations and outcomes. She was going to go ask about the hall, for sure.

Ice listened to the conversation as well, even though he was not a part of it. The Vigilants were in town? That might make things difficult, if he or Laria were recognised for what they were. Perhaps he'd go... Talk to the Vigilant. Maybe explore the house with him... And kill him there, out of sight. 

He wouldn't feel bad killing a Vigilant. They were not innocent. Who knows how many people they've slain over the years, all for being werewolves, vampires, or for worshipping who they wanted... 

This thought solidified, in his mind, that he'd deal with the Vigilant. 

And maybe if the kill went off without a hitch, he'd earn some of Laria's respect too. 

He closed the book and put it in his bag before getting to his feet.

"I should get back to the store. How long will you be in town?" Muiri asked. 

"As long as possible. Though that may mean anywhere from several hours to a week." Laria told her. She glanced at the nord. 

"Try not to die. Or kill civilians." She said. "I will be looking into the crypt." She added as an afterthought.

He glanced back. Did she know what he was doing? Was he really that easy to read?

"The Vigilant has to die." He whispered to Laria, hoping Muiri couldn't pick up what he was saying.

She blinked, then made a mental note to keep blinking until autonomic functions kicked in. That quick mental detour bought her the time needed to form a coherent response for him.

"Then go kill him. Preferably out of sight, I refuse to leave because of your incompetence." She said. If he wanted to go kill someone who posed a threat then all the better for them both.

"It's not like the others." He said with a scowl, "I'm not going to kill him in plain sight. He just... Needs to die." He shook his head "you have fun looking into the closed crypt, I'm going to go deal with our Vigilant problem." 

And with that, he left.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta find random women dispensing elder scrolls in caves. that's a good foundation for government.


End file.
